


East of the Sun, West of the Moon

by Kitsfics



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, As much slow burn as I could muster, Dancing, Drinking, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Just a nice fluffy fic, Loosely based on Black Swan minus the supernatural stuff, New York City, Scotland, Size Difference, Size Kink, Smoking, big dick, but also the fluff, daddy issues? perhaps, gaelic, good girl kink, mmm so many different positions, plenty of smut, safe sex, scottish accent, see notes for list of dead characters: same as book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 73,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsfics/pseuds/Kitsfics
Summary: Sansa Stark is an up-and-coming ballerina in a ballet company run by shrewd and scheming Peter Baelish, who announces she is in the running for the lead in Swan Lake. Sansa is determined to win the part, and incidentally decides to set her sights on reserved, talented rehearsal pianist Sandor Clegane. Sandor resists her advances at first, because he can't see himself opening up to someone else, even someone as lovely and talented as the beautiful Sansa Stark.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 302
Kudos: 297





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, my first SanSan fic! I am addicted to modern settings, and I thought Sansa would make a wonderful ballerina, so here we are. It's gotten a lot longer than I thought it would be. Be prepared for fluff, but mostly a lot of smut. Like seriously, a lot of smut.
> 
> Dead characters are pretty much the same as the book: Ned Stark, Catelyn Stark, and Robb Stark. Jon Snow will probably not figure into the story, though he is mentioned. I might add to the character list, there might be a place in the story for Bronn of the Blackwater.
> 
> Disclaimer, I know nothing about ballet. Everything in this story is from wikipedia or gleaned from watching YouTube videos. The first chapters are ballet heavy, so if it's terribly inaccurate, I apologize. Feel free to correct me in the comments, and I will try to repair my ignorance.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day of rehearsals for the Mockingbird Ballet Company (MBC). Peter announces the dance program for the coming season, and Sansa has high hopes.

Sansa Stark finished lacing the soft ribbons of her _pointe_ shoes around her right ankle, tying the ribbons securely and tucking the ends into a lower fold of the wound ribbon. She stood and tested the shoes gingerly, pointing first her left foot then her right, alternating so only one foot remained flat on the floor at a time. Once she was satisfied, she pointed both toes, balancing on the box of the shoe, toes adjusting to the new shoe. A little painful, but she quickly broke the shoe in and got adjusted.

Sansa moved quickly across the room to the barre by the mirror in the awkward pigeon-toed style made necessary by the large shoes, and began her warm ups. She flexed her feet again by going up on first her left foot, then right several times, then both together, into _plies_ and then extending her right leg, tracing a semi-circle from middle to back, then back to front. Then the same with her left leg. As she warmed up, she kept one eye in the mirror, watching the other girls.

It was the first day of the new season, which meant a crop of new dancers, most barely eighteen. She watched them giggle and gossip as they warmed up, showing off with _grand pas_ and _jete_ that they were, in all likelihood, not warmed up enough to attempt. Sure enough, the instructor Olenna, a handsome woman in her early forties, tore across the floor like a war horse to scold the girls.

“Warm up before you tear a muscle and we put you down like a horse,” she barked in her thick Russian accent, which Sansa knew from experience was a front. Olenna was Russian, but her accent had softened over the almost three decades she’d lived in New York. She told Sansa once that she liked to put on the thick accent for the new girls every year. “Make them feel they get authentic experience,” she growled, to Sansa’s delight.

The new girls lined up at the barre around the outside of the room, the barres in the middle of the room reserved for senior members of the company. They all practiced together the first day, but would soon be split into the soloists and the corps. Olenna walked about the room, indicating to some dancers as she passed that they were invited to practice in the center of the room. Before Olenna reached her side of the room, the pianist entered and crossed in front of Sansa’s barre on his way to the piano.

He never talked to anyone, but Sansa liked him. Most of the company members avoided him, probably his face, which appeared to have been horribly burned on his right side. There was much speculation about how it had happened, though as far as Sansa knew, no one had ever worked up the courage to ask him. Besides his intimidating scars, he was six and a half feet tall, broad-shouldered, and actively discouraged socializing, especially with the younger girls. But he was an amazing piano player. Sansa loved dancing to his playing, he played with such emotion and depth. More importantly, he was extremely consistent, important to a dancer’s timing, but his music never came across as rote or tired. He snapped every once in a while, if someone bothered him, but seemed perfectly content to be left alone, so he always was.

A new girl to Sansa’s left caught sight of the pianist’s scarred face as he walked past, and began to whisper to the dancers beside her, making no effort to keep her voice down. Sansa was sure he could hear.

“Shut up,” she snapped at the girl, who turned to glare at Sansa, quickly backing down at the expression on Sansa’s face and the fact that Sansa was at least four inches taller than the new girl. Olenna had reached their section by then and glared at the girls.

“Talking out of turn will not be tolerated,” she intoned, then turned to smile at Sansa. “Sansa, join us, please.”

Sansa walked out to take her place at the last position available at the center barre, the position closest to the piano. She caught Sandor’s eye and gave him a small smile. Sansa may have been intimidated by him her first year with the company, but there was a softer side to him she spied from time to time. The scars that ran up the right side of his face were fearsome, but his brown eyes warmed as soon as he began to play, when he thought no one was looking. Just now he had a gruff face on to discourage the whispers, which Sansa knew would soon recommence once he left the room.

Olenna led the company through barre practice, walking about the room, correcting positions now and then. Sansa noticed Peter, the head of the company, had slipped in to watch. She tried not to watch him in the mirror, but she always felt his eyes on her. She shuddered slightly. Though his behavior to her had always been proper, Sansa felt a little gross sometimes after speaking to him, feeling like he had undressed her a few times too many in his head and was just itching to do it for real. He wasn’t bad looking, but his manner was slimy and slippery as an eel, and far too familiar. He loved reminding her that he had known her late mother, in tones that made her wonder how well exactly he had known her mother.

Sansa tried to put him out of her mind, focusing instead on the soft piano music, and her positions, making sure her turnout was relaxed and natural, weight evenly distributed, arms graceful and supported from beneath. She let her mind go pliant, and when she looked at herself in the mirror, she was wearing her dancer’s face, what her mother sometimes called _Far Away Princess_. “You look like a princess high in a tower, waiting for her prince to come rescue her.”

“Very nice, Sansa,” Olenna purred as she passed. Sansa felt a small smile curve across her lips, but otherwise she tried to maintain her expression. She continued, with the rest of the company, to second position, all the way through fifth. Finally, Peter nodded to Olenna, who gave a small signal to Sandor to stop playing. Sandor let his hands fall to his lap, and quickly pulled out his cell phone, looking bored. Sansa suppressed a smile. Sandor always looked bored as hell whenever Peter was talking.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am overjoyed to welcome back our most talented troop of performers this company has ever seen. We also welcome our new members, and hope that they will learn by the example of the senior members. There will be fierce competition for this year’s solos, and unfortunately, not everyone will get a chance to shine this year. If you do not get a solo, please do not feel discouraged. We are lucky enough to have some of the best dancers in the world in this room, and our ballet corps is, I feel confident in saying, the strongest in the world.”

Peter approached the center barres, walking purposefully and slowly among the dancers, tapping a few dancers as he went. Sansa wanted to roll her eyes, but maintained her stoic façade. Peter was so pretentious. He did this every year, giving a dramatic speech about how talented everyone was, what shows they would be performing this year, how they were going to take some old dusty piece and spit-shine it into something new and grand, all the while tapping dancers’ shoulders, the ones destined for the _corps_. It was a ploy to make the rest of the dancers nervous, the soloists, to make them question which group they were in. Except he did it every year, so no one was surprised. Any minute now he would wax poetic about the _classics_.

“The classics, my dears, are called that for a reason. They exhibit style, grace, flair. When we adapt a classic, we must ask ourselves, what is it about this art that has inspired generations of artists? How do we make the old new, and the new feel classic? That will be our goal for the fall performance of _Swan Lake_. We are going to strip away the flowery rhetoric, take the story down to its bare bones. It is going to be raw, sexual, animalistic. And we will need a new Odette.”

A minimal murmur went around the room, quickly extinguished. _A new Odette?_ Sansa wondered, the same as everyone else in the room besides Peter, Olenna, and Sandor, who still looked like he would rather have his bones broken and reset than sit through another second of this speech. _What about Cersei?_

“Cersei is going to finish out the season as our Sugar Plum Fairy in _The Nutcracker_ , but that will be her swan song, if you’ll excuse the pun. Finally, _Giselle_ in the spring, which we will not cast until November. If I have tapped your shoulder, thank you for all your hard work last year, and we hope to be able to feature you in the spring. This fall, however, you will be in the _corps_ , putting in the blood, sweat, and tears to make all of us look good. You can take five, and return to begin choreography. Thank you.”

Sansa stood, staring at herself in the mirror as the _corps_ filed out, some openly trying not to look disappointed. _Swan Lake_. It called to her like a siren, and she felt it in her bones. _It’s mine._ But the tall, gangly girl in the mirror filled her with doubt. It was hard enough to find a _pas de deux_ partner tall enough for her. She was 5’9” flat-footed, an even six feet _en pointe_. Her eyes flicked to the male soloists who had remained, relieved to see Jon, the one nicknamed Smalljon to differentiate from the other Jon, who was in the _corps_ this time, the nickname belying his 6’4” tall frame. And then there was Loras, at a few inches over six feet. They would be shoe-ins for the parts of either Prince Siegfried or Rothbart. Sansa suspected Loras was in line for Siegfried, with his blonde curls and devastating good looks.

Sansa took a second to size up her competition. There was Margaery, a beautiful woman a year older than her, smaller than her by three or four inches, delicate-boned and light-footed. She had a sultry look about her, full pouting lips, high sculpted cheekbones, long dark-blonde hair. Jeyne was also petite, hair a shiny chestnut, eyes a brilliant blue. She had danced the Sugar Plum Fairy last year, and Sansa knew Peter had been impressed by her. She was a year younger than Sansa, but talented. There were a few other candidates, but Sansa thought it unlikely they would end up any higher than the _pas de quatre_.

Sansa noticed Sandor looking at her, an unreadable expression on his face. She didn’t know why, but it gave her confidence. She gave him a small smile, no more than a quirk of her mouth upwards, then turned her eyes to regard her own reflection, trying to see herself as another would. Long, slender legs and arms, hips nicely curved, slender waist, breasts small and pert, neck long and graceful. _Like a swan_ , she couldn’t help but think. Her hair, even pulled back, dominated her appearance, with its flaming auburn hues, like a sailor’s delight sunset. _Hard to hide in a_ pas de quatre, she thought. _Any combination of her and three other dancers in this room would have her standing out like a sore thumb_.

Once the _corps_ had filed out, Peter turned to the remaining dancers. “Over the next few days, we will see if we can find the perfect fit for our main roles, Odette, Siegfried, and Rothbart, as well as the _pas de quatre_ of Odette’s swan companions. For my Odette, I am looking for someone who can encompass the light and the dark, good and evil. The white swan princess is virtuous, enchanting, unreachable, virginal. The black swan is sultry, riotous, promiscuous. You can’t take your eyes off of either one, but for opposite reasons. To get the part, you must prove to me that you can be all of these things.”

Peter’s cold grey eyes landed on Sansa, and she was half-repulsed, half-enthralled to see his eyes skimmed quickly over her figure.

“Let’s begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glossary:
> 
> All definitions from [Glossary of ballet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_ballet#)  
> Pointe: Supporting one’s body weight on the tips of the toes, usually while wearing structurally reinforced pointe shoes.  
> Barre: A sturdy horizontal bar, approximately waist height, used during ballet warm-up exercises and training. Fixed barres are typically mounted on mirror-covered walls; portable barres can be relocated as needed. Used for balance, not support.  
> Plie: literally 'bent.’ A smooth and continuous bending of the knees outward with the upper body held upright.  
> Grand pas: A suite of individual dances that serves as a showpiece for lead dancers, demi-soloists, and in some cases the corps de ballet. Basically, this is kind of a MacGuffin (object or device that is necessary to the plot, but insignificant, unimportant, or irrelevant in itself) word I will use to indicate that someone is doing some fancy ballet shit, but I don’t want to go through the trouble of describing it. Just be impressed.  
> Jete: A leap in which one leg appears to be thrown in the direction of the movement (en avant, en arrière, or sideways).  
> Corps: The ensemble of a ballet company, especially the ensemble apart from the featured dancers. Being a part of the corps means one is neither a soloist nor a principal dancer.  
> Turnout: Rotation of the legs at the hips, resulting in knees and feet facing away from each other.  
> Pas de deux: ('Step of two.') A dance duet, usually performed by a female and a male dancer.  
> Pas de quatre: ('Step of four.') A dance by four dancers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has an interesting dream, and auditions for the role of Odette, the Swan Queen. Sansa and Sandor have a notable, if slightly awkward, encounter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went ahead and added the 2nd chapter because I couldn't figure out how to edit the chapters, so it wouldn't say 1/1. I feel like I do this a lot. Anyway, here's our first interaction between Sansa and Sandor.
> 
> First warning for language, Sansa likes to curse, in this reality at least.

Sansa spent long hours at the company over the next few weeks, not returning home until late in the night. She started to hear Tchaikovsky in her sleep, her feet darting under the bedcovers to the footwork of the white swan. She woke up on the last Friday morning of auditions from a dream of opening night, taking the stage for curtain call to thunderous applause, roses at her feet. Sandor stood from the piano (strange, he didn’t usually play their concerts, just rehearsals) and gave her a long-stemmed red rose. She cut her hand on a thorn, but Sandor kissed her palm, his warm brown eyes never leaving her face, and the cut healed like magic.

Sansa opened her eyes and realized she was aroused, wet between her thighs. She slipped one hand into her underwear. Still ten minutes until the alarm went off, she had time. She slid her fingers through her slick lips, pushed two fingers inside, enjoying the feeling of her walls warm and tight around her fingers. She curled her fingers, stroked the front wall as the first two fingers of her right hand began to massage her clit. She closed her eyes, imagining Sandor’s face, how he would feel against her, towering over her, pulling her into his strong arms. She imagined how his fingers would feel inside of her, his breath warm on her ear, beard scratching her neck deliciously, his lilting Scottish accent thick growling at her, telling her to come for him.

Sansa arched her back, the pressure building in her hips. In her fantasy, Sandor’s lips burned against hers, her mouth opening to his as his tongue danced with hers, then withdrawing as his teeth gently bit down on her bottom lip. Sansa came then, in toe-curling ecstasy, a moan escaping her lips as she gently rubbed her clit, bringing herself slowly back down, walls pulsing around her fingers, slowing, then stopping.

As her alarm blared, Sansa wonders if Sandor was single.

`````````````

After warm-up, Peter once again addressed the soloists.

“This morning, we had the final auditions for the men. This afternoon, we will have final auditions for Odette. Margaery, Sansa, and Jeyne, you are my final choices. I will give you each one opportunity to show me first the white swan, then the black. We will take a break, and then I will give you my final decision.”

Olenna drew names to decide who would go first. Sansa’s name was drawn first.

Sansa slipped off her shrug and went to stand in the center of the room for first position for Act 2. She looked into the mirror opposite, took in her appearance. She had worn a pale blue leotard specifically to highlight the ocean blue of her eyes, and to set off the dark red of her hair, which was pulled back in a loose chignon. The leotard was cut low in the back, a little bit of extra skin showing. She had worn the palest tights she owned, almost the same color as her pale skin. Her short skirt was wispy and ethereal, a romantic dove grey. She looked to Sandor, repressing a small tremor at the fathomless expression in his deep brown eyes, and nodded.

Sansa began in open fourth position, arms crossed in front of her. As Sandor began to play, Sansa lifted to tiptoe on her right leg, raising her left leg, bent at the knee, so that her pointed toe rested just by her right knee. She extended her left leg out to the left, quickly dipping her left toe back to her knee and out again two times, then lowering back down to the floor, her left leg now in front of her right. She repeats the movement, this time _en pointe_ on her left toe, right foot extending to her right. _Arabesque_ , _en pointe_ on one foot with the other leg extended straight out behind her, pirouettes, leading into the _grand pas_.

Sansa felt her feet had never been so light, her hands never so graceful. She felt it in every muscle in her body, every nerve, that she was born to dance this part. She knew if she were to see her face in the mirror, that should would have that far-away look in her eyes, lips gently curved, but not fully smiling. It was not a vacant expression, but rather the expression of someone waiting to be found, waiting to be awoken from an enchanted sleep. She did not look at herself in the mirror, however. Princesses don’t look at themselves; they exist to be looked at, not to do the looking.

The final sequence was a series of spins, not stationary, but moving up stage, first three, then dancing back, cautiously, shyly. She is not ready yet to meet her prince. Then forward three turns, then back, then again, a little faster, each time moving farther forward than she goes back. Then a flurry of turns, the note from Olenna had been “as many as you can do without passing out.” Sansa did ten in a row, ending before she ran out of floor, arms extended, one foot extended on the floor behind her, holding her pose as long as she can. She caught her reflection in the mirror before she broke character to inhale several times quickly: a perfect princess.

The soloists, and Peter in particular, applauded her, and Sansa curtsied gracefully, keeping her face neutral, humble, although she wanted to run and jump and pump her fists in the air and flip off Margaery.

“Excellent. I suspected that the white swan would come naturally to you. And now the black swan?”

Sansa moved to center floor, but then had a sudden inspiration. It was unorthodox, but she was so elated from the success of her first performance, she just couldn’t help herself. She reached up and with a deft pull, released her hair from its chignon. She had opted for just an elastic and two spiral hair pins to secure her long red tresses, and she walked to the back of the room and tossed them onto her bag before returning to center stage.

This section was more technically challenging. She began with her left foot forward, right foot pointed behind her. She nodded to Sandor, and he began to play. Suddenly, Sansa felt they were the only two people in the room. _Seduce him_ , she thought. _Convince him I’m not just one of the little birds. I’m the Swan Queen._ She began moving her arms, slower than before, more sinuous, up, then down, arms undulating like the flapping of a bird’s wing, but subtly, not exaggerated. Then, the turns. Up on pointe, turning and stopping precisely at quarter turns, until a whole rotation is complete. She did four of these, never once letting her left foot touch the ground. Then a series of jumps and _grand pas,_ intricate footwork that she made look effortless, all the time her flaming hair spinning around her. The final sequence of turns, one after another after another. Sansa exceeded her first efforts, twelve spins, stopping triumphantly up-stage, _en pointe,_ feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed in front of her, staring down the reflection in the mirror. This time she took in her reflection, noting with pleasure the high color on her cheeks, the perfect arch of her back, the wild tumble of her wavy hair, the way the light caught the copper highlights. She was preening, and why shouldn’t she? She was the Black Swan, and she had just ensnared her prince.

She lowered herself back to the floor, turned to face the group. Before she did, her eyes darted to Sandor, whose face maintained his characteristic stoicism, but whose eyes never left her figure. Turning, she saw Peter nod to her. Satisfied, she returned to her spot on the wall, sat and took a pull of water from her flask. She put her hair back up in its bun as Jeyne took her turn on the dance floor. Sansa hated to admit it, but either Jeyne or Margaery would make a wonderful Odette, each devastatingly beautiful and graceful in her own way, Margaery bold and dynamic, Jeyne light and airy.

Once Margaery had finished the black swan’s dance, Peter stood in front of the group, thanking them for their dancing.

“Truly a wonder to behold,” he smiled, although his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You have given me a lot to think about. This will not be an easy decision, by any means. One hour, please, and I will announce who will be our leads for _Swan Lake_.”

Sansa began to remove her _pointe_ shoes, as they wouldn’t be expected to dance again tonight. Peter might make them stay to work on blocking if he was feeling particularly curmudgeonly, but regular slippers would do for that. Sansa slipped into a pair of soft brown moccasins, then packed her bag, pulling out her cell phone as the others stood and left, discussing their Friday night plans. Sansa saw she had a text from Arya, unlocked the phone hurriedly.

_Ugh, I’m so sick of class, and the semester’s just begun. Dinner tomorrow?_

Sansa smiled, quickly texted back that she was looking forward to it. It had only been a few weeks since she’d last seen her sister, studying history at NYU on a fencing scholarship, but it felt like months.

She hesitated, then sent a follow-up text. _I might have good news for you tomorrow_.

This was seriously tempting fate, something Sansa never did, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. The text was sent before Sansa could think twice, and then she felt a wave of anxiety rush over her. Why had she done that? Only a fool bragged about a solo before she had it. And it was not certain that she had it. She hadn’t performed significantly better than the others, plus her trick about her hair might come off like show-boating.

Worse than the anxiety was the fact that Arya wasn’t texting back. Suddenly, this seemed like a bad omen. Even Arya must think she was counting her chickens. Sansa slipped her thumb into her mouth, nail between her teeth, but she caught herself before she bit down. Sansa had spent years trying to rid herself of the habit of chewing her nails, but at times like this, it was like she was ten again. She needed a cigarette.

Sansa stood and headed to the back door, back by the piano. Dancers at the company were strongly discouraged from smoking, so Sansa never went to the front door, instead electing to stand back by the dumpster, and its occasionally nauseating smell.

The first thing she noticed upon opening the door was the lack of wet garbage smell, meaning the dumpster must have just been emptied that morning. She checked that the brick was wedged into the door to keep it propped open so she wouldn’t get locked out, and pulled out her lighter, cigarette already clamped between her lips. She flipped her lighter once, twice, three more times.

“Fucking dogshit asshole bugging piece of crap!” she muttered darkly as the lighter still wouldn’t light. A clicking sound behind her followed by the unmistakable tiny whoosh of a flame igniting, made her pause, then turn.

Sandor had been standing behind the door, smoking. He held his hand forward to light her cigarette, and Sansa laid her hand gently on his wrist to steady herself for the moment it took her cigarette to light. She leaned back, let go of his arm, which had felt firm and solid under her hand, then threw her useless lighter over her shoulder. A satisfying thwack let her know she had hit the dumpster.

“That was some impressive cursing, just then.”

Sansa laughed, shrugging lightly as she inhaled. “Mum always said I cursed like a sailor when I got out of sorts.”

Sandor took a drag of his cigarette, and Sansa’s eyes flicked involuntarily to his lips, full and thick, puckered around the cigarette butt. He exhaled slowly, regarding her with the same impassive stare he always wore. The sun was already setting, the last rays slanting down through the buildings to weirdly illuminate the space. Sansa wasn’t sure how, suspected that maybe the light was bouncing off one of those annoyingly reflective skyscrapers, giving the air about her a strange glow.

“Thought you little birds weren’t allowed to smoke,” he finally growled.

“It’s not encouraged,” Sansa admitted. “I’m usually good, but my anxiety’s getting the better of me right now.”

“No need. You’ll get the part.”

His quiet, calm surety took her by surprise. She’d known him for a few years, as well as anyone at the company did, though not enough to know anything about him outside of his work. She’d never heard him venture an opinion about the company, about dancing, about anything, really. She froze, considering him. Now that she thought of it, this was the most she’d ever heard him speak. His brown eyes looked back at her coolly. He took another drag. Sansa mirrored him.

“How do you know that?” she finally asked. “You know anything about ballet?”

Sandor scoffed; the closest thing Sansa had ever come to hearing him laugh. “Not a smidge. But I know every man in that room couldn’t keep his eyes off you.” His eyes were serious now, levelled at Sansa. She thought that if looks could kill, Sandor’s could cut steel beams in half. “Watch out for that Baelish.”

She blinked. “Peter?”

“Aye. He’s a scoundrel. Gossip is he always tries to get fresh with his leading ladies.”

Sansa shrugged, took another drag of her cigarette. “Wouldn’t surprise me. I’ll be careful.”

Sandor flicked his butt into the dumpster, where it smoldered. “See that you do. Wouldn’t want to have to come rescue the little bird twice.” He cocked a smile at her as he turned to go.

“Wait,” Sansa said softly, partly just to see if he would. He hesitated, but didn’t turn back to her.

Sansa barreled forward before she could lose her nerve. “Take me out to celebrate tonight? If I get it?”

He turned back partway, showing her his left side, the unscarred side of his face. “Thought you’d want to go out with your friends.”

She shrugged, trying not to sound pathetic. “Haven’t really got any.”

He stood a moment, thinking, then shook his head. “Nah, I’m too old for you.”

Sansa flicked her cigarette, walked past him to the door, brushing against him as she did. She turned at the door to face him. “Isn’t that half the fun?” she asked, one eyebrow arching artfully. Then her gaze was caught by movement in the dumpster. She looked just in time to see a rat the size of a housecat fall out of the dumpster just yards away. She jumped and shrieked, “Fuck me!”

Sandor jumped too, one hand going to her arm defensively, pushing her back from the street. He turned to look where she was pointing. “Bugger all, you trying to fucking scare me out of my wits?” he asked Sansa.

“Sorry, shit, those fucking rats get bigger every year. I think that little shit was bigger than some of the new girls.”

Sandor smirked at her, then put either hand on her shoulders, moving her aside gently but firmly.

“Some other time, little bird.”

Sansa stood watching the rat scuttle off, feeling a little rejected. It had been a dumb idea. What made her want to ask the rehearsal pianist on a date, anyway? Besides the dream she’d had, the way he towered over her, the feel of his strong arms on her shoulders, and besides his kind brown eyes that always looked so lonely?

She felt a buzz from where she had tucked her phone into the neckline of her leotard. She fished her phone out of her pocket. Arya had texted her back while she had been speaking to Sandor.

_Whatever it is, I’m sure you got the part and you’ll be brilliant. Can’t wait to hear all about it._

Sansa locked her phone and smirked, feeling her confidence return after her sister’s encouragement. She had this fucking part. She knew it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't smoke! Also, the rat story was inspired by a real experience of mine. I worked at a restaurant, and I went out back to smoke. The restaurant next to ours had a raised wooden platform, and I used to sit there sometimes to rest my feet. Well, one day I went out and there was a huge rat sitting there. Like, it was seriously the size of a house cat, minus the cat's long legs. It saw me and just like waddled under the porch, and I was never able to sit there again. Freaked me out, naturally, because I'd definitely never seen a rat before (I don't like in New York City) and I'd certainly never seen anything that size on television or movies. *shudder* I was alone, though, no hot Scotsman to console me. *sigh*
> 
> Glossary: [Link text](url)
> 
> All definitions from [Glossary of ballet](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_ballet#)
> 
> Arabesque: In dance (particularly ballet), arabesque (French: [aʁabɛsk]; literally, "in Arabic fashion") is a body position in which a dancer stands on one leg (the supporting leg) with the other leg (the working leg) extended, straight, behind the body  
> Pirouette: A non-traveling turn on one leg, of one or more rotations, often starting with one or both legs in plié and rising onto demi-pointe or pointe.
> 
> I can’t remember what video I watched for reference for the first dance, but here’s Act 2, it was probably somewhere in there: [Swan Lake Act 2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-Pc_FO89aY)  
> And here was my reference for the black swan: [Swan Lake Act 3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-Pc_FO89aY)  
> The whole thing is on YouTube, if you have a spare few hours, check it out. It’s super gorgeous! [Swan Lake full video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rJoB7y6Ncs)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter from Sandor's POV. He hears Peter announce the leads for Swan Lake, and recalls how he first met Sansa. Later, when he goes home, he finds his thoughts occupied.

Sandor stood outside the rehearsal room after his smoke, at the back door where no one usually came by. He shut his eyes, hands in his pockets, and could still smell Sansa’s alluring perfume, could see her before him, all cocky grin and smooth alabaster skin. When she’d jumped practically into his arms, her skin had felt so warm and soft under his hand, and his cock had twitched eagerly at the (albeit rhetorical) invitation to fuck her.

He was in fucking trouble. He thought she had to be 21 or 22 years old. What did she want with an old, scarred man like him anyway? Some kind of daddy kink or something? And why did the thought of that turn him on like an old randy sack of shit?

“Cause yeh fucking are, Clegane,” he muttered to himself.

He opened his eyes as the rehearsal room began to fill. Soon, Baelish stood up at the front of the room, making another pompous speech. Finally, he announced that Loras would play Siegfried, Smalljon would dance the part of Rothbart, and Sansa would be the Swan Queen.

Baelish announced that rehearsals were done for the day. Sandor peeked in at Sansa’s expression, radiant but humble, like she almost couldn’t believe it. Sandor dug his hands into his pocket, and left through the back door. As he stomped through the back alley to the street, he remembered the first time he’d met Sansa, some years ago, on a cold winter night.

`````````````

_Four years ago_

He popped out to have a smoke, after what felt like the millionth time playing Clair de Lune for the ballet corps. The next year, he thought, he’d petition Baelish to play for the soloists. It was longer hours, but it paid better and no more teeny-boppers chirping about his face.

But for the moment, he was stuck with the Teen Beat. He shook his head and took a drag of his cigarette.

Late November felt like February, what with the chill and the feeling of frost in the air. Sandor hugged his arms to his chest, trying to smoke faster. He was just about to put out his cigarette and go back in when he heard an argument around the corner, male and female voices arguing, sounded young. He’d almost decided to ignore it and go back, when he heard the solid, meaty sound of a hand slapping bare flesh, and started walking to the sound before he could think better of it. Rounding the corner, near the side entrance of the company building where the dancers often entered and exited, a young girl stood, in tights and simple ballet slippers, the ones beginners wore. She wore only a thin skirt, a leotard, and a cardigan she had wrapped tightly around herself, for all the good it did her.

The boy she was arguing with looked like he was the same age as the girl, sixteen or seventeen. He had a nice thick coat on, which he did not seem to have offered the girl. The girl had one hand to her cheek, where Sandor could just make out a red mark, though her face was so red from the cold it was hard to see. When the little fucker grabbed her by the front of the cardigan, Sandor charged forward.

“What do you think you’re doing, you little cunt?” he roared, making them both jump. The boy, blonde and snotty-looking, looked him up and down.

“None of your business, ass-wipe,” he sneered.

Sandor reached out and shoved the kid on the shoulder, barely even a tap, but it was enough to make the boy start slipping and sliding on the slick sidewalk. Sandor took the girl’s arms and pulled her gently but firmly away so she didn’t go down with the boy as he fell.

“Just wait ‘til my father hears about this!” the little fucker started to puff, trying to get up but having no purchase and nothing to hold onto.

“You should really be more careful on the ice, lad. Could be dangerous. You should also get the fuck out of here and never come back.”

The boy finally reached a trashcan, bolted securely to the sidewalk, and used it to pull himself up. “Sansa, we’re done.”

The girl, Sansa apparently, blinked in surprise, then to Sandor’s everlasting shock, lunged at the little shit while Sandor held her back, frightening the boy and sending him sliding and falling again in the ice.

“If I ever see you again, Joff, I swear on my mother I’ll cut your cock off and feed it to you. You hear me, shit stain? I’ll fucking kill you.”

Sandor started to drag Sansa away, back around the corner to the back entrance. “Hey,” she murmured, trying to sooth her. “It’s ok, little bird, he’s not coming back.”

By the time he helped her to the door, Sansa had dissolved into tears all over Sandor, much to his chagrin. Sandor got her inside to warm up, patted her back and mumbled little variations of “it’s alright” and “there, there” until he could track down Olenna and hand Sansa over to her care.

`````````````

Ever since then, Sansa had been friendly to him, once she’d overcome her initial embarrassment at what happened. They hardly ever spoke, but Sansa would smile at him, shyly at first. Even though he never smiled back, he hardly ever smiled at anyone, she never stopped smiling at him. Something about her had changed over the summer, though, it seemed. He’d hardly spoken to her in three years, and then suddenly she was making eyes at him during rehearsals, smoking and rubbing against him in alleyways like a cat in heat.

Sandor tried to focus on his book as he rode the subway, but his mind kept wandering back to Sansa, her bright blue eyes, her full lips, long red hair, her ass in those leotards.

Sandor sighed, shutting the book with a snap. _Keep dreaming, Clegane_ , he thought to himself as he gazed out the window at the lights flashing by. _It’ll never happen_.

`````````````

An hour later, Sandor unlocked the door to his apartment. A cockroach scurried across the floor, disappearing beneath the fridge.

“Fucking little shit,” he muttered under his breath.

The apartment had been listed as a one-bedroom, but realistically it was more of a studio. The “bedroom” was so small Sandor used it for storage and kept his queen-sized bed in the living room. It’s not like anyone ever visited him, so he didn’t have to worry about having a couch for guests. The kitchen was small, but Sandor did his best to keep it neat. However, the roaches were unavoidable.

He slipped his keys onto the hook by the door, locked both deadbolts, then opened a drawer in the kitchen and took out three adhesive roach traps. He removed the paper covering the adhesive, folded them into boxes with the adhesive on the inside, and set one on the back of the counter, two on the baseboards under the cupboards.

He opened the fridge and took out a container of leftover Chinese food, microwaved it for a few minutes while he poured himself a glass of water, as well as a rocks glass with two inches of Scotch. He pulled out his book again and sat down at the card table that served him for a kitchen table. He tried to read as he ate, but he found himself reading the same paragraph over and over. After eating, he took his Scotch to the bed, turned on his tiny TV, tried to focus on an old movie showing on public access TV. He remembered watching this movie with his mother once, she’d loved old movies, and always got him to stay up late watching them with her. He would protest that he was tired, that he had to go to bed to be up for school the next morning. He always was exhausted from his evening job unloading trucks at the grocery store, but he could never deny his mother the company she craved all day. She was certainly never going to get companionship from his father, so Sandor always stayed up until the small hours of the morning watching _Camille_ or _Stage Door_. She loved old Hollywood actresses, went on about beautiful and graceful and clever they were.

The lead actress was one of his mother’s favorites, slender and beautiful, with masses of wavy hair, and even though the movie was in black and white, Sandor knew the actress’s hair shone like polished copper. So even though he’d started watching to distract himself, he ended up being reminded of Sansa Stark anyway. He stared out the window as the movie played forgotten in the background. He knew how it ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor's memories of his mother were inspired by my mother and her grandmother. My Mom would come home from a long day of school and her job as a cashier, and her mom would beg her to stay up and watch an old movie with her. I think my grandmother just really loved old movies, and was a bit of an insomniac, but I always felt sorry for my mom, staying up til 1 AM, when she had to wake up in like 5 hours and do it all over again.
> 
> [Camille (1936)](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0028683/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1)
> 
> [Stage Door (1937)](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0029604/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_0)
> 
> [Gilda (1946)](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0038559/?ref_=nm_knf_i1)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor have an interesting conversation after rehearsal. Peter enrages Sansa with an accusation, and Sansa gives Sandor an ultimatum.

The next week, Sansa returned to rehearsals like nothing had happened, her behavior towards Sandor unchanged. She smiled at him as she warmed up, sometimes winked at him when no one else was watching. Sandor hardly reacted at all, usually just looking away, but sometimes he’d stare her down, as if asking what she thought she was doing.

Sansa didn’t take it personally. Instead, she threw herself into rehearsals. The blocking came first, in private sessions with just her, Olenna, Loras, and Smalljon. And Sandor, of course.

“Very good, Sansa,” Olenna told her at the end of a long day. Loras and Smalljon had already left, Sansa had stayed behind to hear Olenna’s notes. Olenna was using her normal voice now, New York diction with a light Russian accent. “Your footwork is impeccable as always, and your turns and jumps, flawless. Your facial expressions in Act 1 and 2 are impressive, light and beautiful, like a fairy princess. Just work on your dark swan, she should have raw passion. You are seducing the prince; you must feel it.”

Sansa tried not to blush, but a glance at the mirror told her she had failed. “I’ll try. Any pointers?”

Olenna smirked, looking Sansa up and down. “If a girl like you does not know how to seduce a man, I don’t know what advice I can give.” Chuckling, she left the room, and Sansa was alone, watching herself in the mirrors.

She took a few steps, the beginning of the black swan’s solo in Act 3. Watching herself in the mirror, she tried to give her face that raw, emotional need. After a few minutes, though, she gave up. Instead, she began to dance her favorite ballet, a piece she had learned during her first year at the company, as a green ingenue, not even a full member of the ballet, even the corps, but the beginner’s corps that performed free at fundraisers in the fall and spring. The girls, most of them eighteen or even younger, got experience and exposure, and the opportunity to audition for the corps the next year, and Baelish got beautiful eye candy for his galas.

Sansa was in the middle of a pirouette when she spotted someone at the door. She faltered, feeling a little silly. She stopped spinning, realizing at the same time it was Sandor.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Sandor remarked, approaching the piano.

“I didn’t know anyone was still here,” she explained. She waited for Sandor to say something, but he just stood staring at her. Sansa shrugged and walked to the wall where her bag lay. She sat down and began to untie her shoes.

“I forgot my phone,” Sandor explained. Sansa nodded, quickly slipping into tennis shoes, shoving her pointe shoes into a drawstring canvas bag.

“You didn’t have to run off because of me,” Sandor said, still standing by the piano.

“It’s ok. I have to get home anyway, my sister’s coming over for dinner in an hour.”

Sansa packed her bag, pulled out her bottle of water.

“That was pretty. The Four Seasons, right? Spring?”

Sansa nodded with a smile, “You have a good memory.” She stood and passed the strap of her bag over her shoulder.

“I played it for four fucking years, over and over again. I should know what the ballet looks like!”

Sansa knew she should shut the lights off in the rehearsal room before she left. She could see that the rest of the building was dark; Petyr had already gone home. If he came in the next day to find the lights had been left burning all night, she would catch hell. But she dreaded it, dreaded having to walk from the front door to the back exit in the dark.

Sansa walked to the front door of the rehearsal room, waving her hand to Sandor. “Stay there.”

She reached for the light switch, eyeing Sandor to make sure he wasn’t going to slip out the back door. He put one hand on the piano, anchoring himself. Sansa nodded, then flipped off the light.

The darkness that fell over the room always startled her, even when she expected it. The large room seemed to grow in the dark, noises seemed to echo and grow to phantom-like proportions. An exit sign burned like hellfire, but the mirrors that covered all four walls reflected the neon sign tenfold.

“You still there?” Sansa whispered.

“I’m here.”

She honed in on the sound of his voice, and eventually, after a minute or so of stressful wandering in the dark found him. He had moved, though, he was sitting on the piano bench, a few feet farther than she’d expected to find him. She gasped when her fingers finally found him, having lived through an hour of terror in just the few moments it took to reach him. Her fingers stopped on something round, muscular, probably his shoulder.

“Is that you?”

“Who else would it be?”

Once she was sure it wasn’t the boogey man or a serial killer she had chanced upon, she sighed. Her fingers gripped his shoulder tightly. Sandor hissed slightly at the strength of her grip.

“Sorry,” she sighed.

“You afraid of the dark?”

Sansa was quiet, the sound of her rapid breathing filling the space between them. Her fingers groped up his shoulder to his neck, then up to his chin. She felt something rough, corded, realized she must be touching his scar. Her hand spread, her fingers spanning from his ear to his chin. With a mental image of his face, she bent forward, aiming her lips towards the area she calculated his lips would be.

She thought he would turn away, but to her surprise he leaned into her. Her lips banged against his, a little harder than she meant to. Her other hand rose to Sandor’s neck, combing her fingers through his hair. His hand encircled her waist. As tall as he was, even sitting he was barely a head shorter than her. She found herself enjoying the vantage, tilting her head down, Sandor’s head thrown back, his neck exposed to her. She ran her left hand down his beard, down the sculpted cords of his neck.

Then Sansa was blinded by light flooding the rehearsal space. She was looking down at Sandor’s face, who was squinting at the door, then shifting away, his hands falling from her waist. Sansa looked behind her to the door. Petyr was standing there, his hand on the light switch, an unfathomable expression on his face.

“Sansa, I had no idea you were still here. Can I see you in my office, please?”

Sansa nodded, turning back to Sandor with a small smile of apology.

“Clegane, you can go home,” Petyr said with a small smile as Sansa crossed the room. “No need to hang about.”

Petyr followed her up the stairs to his office, sensing his eyes on her ass as she climbed. She pushed the door open at the top of the iron stairs, entered Peter’s office. She had never been in here before, but had seen many other girls make this climb before. The room was half business, half lounge. A desk stood against one wall, a window looking out over the main rehearsal room where the corps rehearsed, so he could keep an eye on his little birds. The other half of the room, farther back from the windows, had a low sofa, coffee table, a thick sheepskin rug covered the floor. Sansa cringed at the sight of the room. It was like a ‘60s casting couch, seedy and ridiculous.

Sansa declined when he asked if she wanted to sit. Privately, she thought the place would have to be hosed down a few times before she would touch anything in here. Aloud, she told Petyr she couldn’t stay, she had to get home to dinner.

Petyr looked disappointed, but he didn’t say it. “You have big plans?”

“Arya’s coming home,” she smiled, glad of the excuse. “She’s so busy with school, she only gets to come home a few times a month.”

Petyr smiled. “How is Arya? Still studying the sword?”

“She has a fencing meet next week. I’m going to go watch. She says her classes are going well.”

“She’s a sophomore?”

“Junior.”

Petyr nodded. “Well, I won’t keep you. How could anyone keep such devoted sisters apart?”

Sansa nodded, but privately was confused. He made little statements like that sometimes, and it was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or sincere. Either way, she didn’t know what to say.

“I just wanted to warn you about Clegane.”

If Sansa had been speechless before, she was now doubly so. Luckily, Petyr didn’t wait for her to speak.

“He’s gotten fresh with the girls before, I wanted to make sure he’s not making any untoward advances. I know,” he continued, interpreting her silence in whatever manner he wished to, “you’d think his face would make him think twice, but the man has no shame. Please take care around him. I would hate for him to claim that you’d been encouraging him.”

Sansa stood by the door, seething. She wanted to walk over and kick him in the shins, slap the pretentious smarmy smile right off his fucking face. But he was her boss. She doubted very much if he would fire her, he hated scandal. But he could quietly pass her over for every solo until she was back in the corps, and she’d worked too hard for that. So Sansa did the only thing she could, turned on her heel and walked out without another word.

She returned to the small rehearsal room, but Sandor had gone. She didn’t bother with the lights, which were still on. Petyr could close up. She stormed across the room, through the back corridor, and slammed through the back door to the alleyway, shoving the door so hard it careened around to crash against the wall, then ricocheted back to slam shut. She jumped at the figure of a man standing halfway down the alley, toward the street, but relaxed when she saw it was Sandor.

“Thought you’d left,” she said. He didn’t say anything.

Sansa reached into her bag and pulled out a cigarette and lighter, but her hand was shaking so hard Sandor had to come light it for her.

“What’s got you so worked up?” he asked, his voice gruff but concerned.

“I just want to wring his fucking neck,” she growled, exhaling a puff of smoke.

“He didn’t try anything, did he?”

“No, he said you would, though. That you prey on all the girls. Seemed to be projecting a bit.”

Sandor looked amused. “Is that all? He can say whatever he wants about me, I don’t care.”

Sansa started to walk to the street. “Come on, I don’t want to run into him if he comes out this way.”

“He never does,” Sandor said, but followed her anyway.

Something about standing at the street calmed Sansa’s nerves a bit. The yellow streetlights reflected off wet pavements (had it rained? She hadn’t noticed) and the street had a wholesome clean smell it only got right after a summer rain.

She turned back to Sandor, who had been watching her with his hands stuck in his pockets. She dug in her bag for a moment, then came up with a Sharpie. Then she grabbed his hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked, but Sansa didn’t answer, just uncapped the pen with her lips, and flipped his hand over. She wrote her phone number on the palm of his hand, then re-capped the pen, and bent her head to his hand to blow on the ink to dry it.

“I have to go, but you should text me. You’re being dumb. There’s something here, or there could be. You need to stop waffling, before it’s too late.”

“Too late?”

“Before I either move on to someone else who’s not as good for me, or just stop trying.” She shrugged and started walking down the street backwards. “I’m here, Sandor. But I won’t be forever.” With that, she turned on her heel and had soon turned the corner, heading home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo, sassy Sansa! I told y'all, I'm not good at slow burn. This is as slow-burn as I can muster! I hope you like it!
> 
> Also, I decided to switch back to the book spelling of Petyr. I realized it's totally on brand for this Petyr, I'm sure he'd leap at the chance to spell his name all pretentiously. I probably won't edit the previous chapters, unless I just get extra time on my hands.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor contacts Sansa, begins making plans.

Sansa had expected a text in a few days, maybe. She got one a few minutes later.

 **Sorry it took me so long to text. My train was late** _._ It was brief, to be sure, but it made Sansa smile, all the same. Sansa saved the number, then started to text her response.

**Unforgivable, really, but I guess I’ll let you make it up to me.**

**Can I take you out tomorrow?**

Sansa was grinning at her phone and didn’t move out of the way of an oncoming pedestrian, who swiped her shoulder, jarring her.

“Watch where you’re going, bitch.”

“Fuck your mother, shit stain!” she yelled back, then returned to grinning at her phone like a teenager.

**I’ll have to check my very busy social schedule, but I think I could squeeze you in.**

**Yeah, I’ll bet you could.**

Sansa let out a small giddy noise, but got distracted by an incoming text from her sister. **Hey, is it cool if I bail tonight? I just spent all day in the library finishing an assignment and I’m wiped. Can I come over on Saturday?**

Sansa typed out her reply, assuring Arya that it was totally cool, to rest up and she would see her on Saturday. After hitting send, Sansa had arrived home, so she went through the process of letting herself in and kicking off her shoes, then starting dinner because she was starving. Once she had poured herself a glass of water, dug her phone back out of her bag, and saw she had received another text from Sandor.

**Fuck, did I say something wrong?**

Sansa realized she’d never replied to his last text, and quickly sent back a smiling emoji, then followed it with a text: **No, of course not! Sorry, I got distracted. My sister bailed on me tonight.** Send. **I mean, she’s really busy with school and stuff, I didn’t mean to make it sound like she was just blowing me off for fun or anything.** Send. **She’s actually coming on Saturday for dinner, now, so that’s good.** Send.

Sansa cringed as she realized she had just sent four back to back texts. She hesitated, feeling like she should probably just set the phone down and back away slowly before he decided she was bat-shit crazy, but then shrugged and figured he might as well figure out sooner rather than later. **Sorry, I’m a bit of a serial texter. Usually, if you just give me a minute, I’ll tire myself out, lol!** Send.

She did set the phone down now and opened the oven to slide a tray with two halves of a chicken breast into the oven. She turned on the rice maker and poured in a half cup of rice and a little more than half a cup of water. It was her go-to evening meal, chicken, rice, steamed vegetables, usually broccoli. Quick and simple; low calorie, high protein.

When she glanced back at her phone, she had a new text: **LOL it’s ok, you don’t have to apologize. It’s a little all over the place, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it.**

Sansa smiled. So he was thinking about long-term, maybe? Longer-term than just a date, anyway. **How’s the commute?**

**Ugh, still another half-hour to go.**

**Where do you live?**

**Queens.**

**You home yet?**

Sansa scrunched her mouth up, trying to decide how to respond. She didn’t want to tell him where she lived yet, didn’t want him to think she was a spoiled princess. She wouldn’t lie, she decided, but she wouldn’t volunteer information. **Yeah, just** , she sent.

From her area code, she was hoping he would think she still lived in SoHo, she’d never had her number changed after the move. She sent another text: **Gonna make some dinner, take a shower, then watch some TV. You?**

Sansa noted how there was just enough time between sending a text and receiving a reply to drastically over-think what she’d sent. But the more texts she got from Sandor, the more relaxed she became about it. He replied asking what kind of TV she would watch, and Sansa replied probably the new episode of _So You Think You Can Dance?_ Sandor expressed dismay that she would be the type to watch reality TV. By the time her dinner was out of the oven, Sansa was upbraiding him for calling SYTYCD “reality” TV.

**No!! It’s reality in a good way, like real people, not canned, pre-scripted tripe. And the dancers are amazing! Send. You’ve probably never even watched it, have you?**

Sandor admitted he hadn’t and Sansa triumphantly shot back: **My point exactly.**

**I bet you watch Dancing with the Stars too.**

Sansa threw down her fork to text back with rapid gusto: **Oh hellllll no! I watch real dancers, not football players. Get the fuck out of here with that shit!**

Sandor texted back as she was finishing her dinner: **Ok, good. I don’t know if I could date someone with bad taste in reality TV.** Sansa grinned. He’d said date!

Sansa rinsed off her dishes and headed upstairs to her room, taking her bag with her and entering the security code so she wouldn’t have to come back down later. No sign of her roommate Harry, but that was typical. He was almost always either at his girlfriend’s apartment or out of town. He had spent years as a struggling actor, but was just starting to make good, and might have a job in LA soon. Sansa suspected he might end up moving out soon, which meant she would have to go through the tedious, nerve-wracking process of finding another one soon.

Sansa re-read his message, and texted her own: **So you admit there is such a good thing as good reality TV? C’mon, what’s your guilty pleasure?**

Sandor didn’t text her back right away. Sansa began to undress, tossing her dirty tights and leotard in a separate hamper for special laundering. She got his text as she turned on the water, but leaned against her bathroom counter for a moment, texting back and forth about the merits of Kitchen Nightmares, Sandor’s pick for the only good reality TV.

 **I just like to watch him yell at people** , Sandor concluded.

**Why doesn’t that surprise me? I’ll brb, jumping in the shower.**

Sansa was tempted to wait and see if he would text her something dirty, but decided she would rather get her shower over with.

She was not normally very quick in the shower, but tonight she shampooed and conditioned her hair, washed her body and face, and shaved in record time. Turning off the water, she wrapped herself in a huge fluffy bath sheet, stepped onto the bath mat, wrapped a towel around her wet hair, and checked her phone.

**I won’t pretend I’m not imagining *that***

Sansa grinned, typing back a quick message, just the word **Good** and a winking emoji. She changed into pajamas, dried her hair, then slipped into bed with her laptop, opening the Hulu app and hitting start on the newest episode waiting in her watchlist. She texted with Sandor through the episode. He had finally arrived home just before she stepped in the shower, and had cooked himself some spaghetti, and was now watching a black and white movie.

 **What movie?** she asked.

**Philadelphia Story. Another beautiful redhead.**

Sansa blushed. She had shut down her laptop, just lying in bed now and texting him.

 **Wait, was I the first? beautiful redhead?** She sent, grinning from ear to ear when his reply came back, a gif of Pam from The Office, looking directly into the camera, while a huge text box next to her proclaimed “Yup!”

Sansa cackled. Thought she was beautiful, liked The Office, and had good gif game? Game changer! Sansa looked up the movie quickly on her phone. **Katherine Hepburn?** she texted back.

**You’ve seen it?**

**No, I googled it. You watch a lot of old movies?**

**I dabble. We should watch this some time, I think you’d like it.**

Sansa got a sudden mental image of them on the couch downstairs, curled up together, and smiled. **I’d like that.**

 **You headed to bed?** Sansa glanced at the time, almost 10 PM.

 **Yeah, I probably should be.** She didn’t say it, but she just liked talking to him so much. **What are we doing tomorrow? What should I wear?** She sent the text, then sat up, picking up her laptop and setting it on her desk, so she wouldn’t roll over and kick it off the bed or something in the middle of the night. Then she went to brush her teeth, put a few products on her face, before returning to bed.

**I can’t tell you that, it’ll spoil the surprise. And you should wear whatever you want.**

Sansa smiled. **A surprise? I feel like I should be nervous.**

A moment later, his reply: **You can be nervous. I am.**

The thought of him being nervous to spend time with her made her feel a little giddy and excited, like she was little again, and couldn’t wait for Christmas morning.

 **You in bed yet?** He asked a moment later.

**Yes.**

**I should let you get to sleep.**

Sansa plugged in her phone, turned off the lamp and settled down in the covers. She turned down the brightness on her phone, typed out her message. **Yeah, I guess so.**

**Sleep well, little bird.**

Sansa grinned, typed back. **Good night!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy chapter! I changed my formatting for texts from italics to bold, let me know what you think. I think the bold might be easier to read. There will be more texting conversations in the future, so let me know if you have an opinion.
> 
> Next few chapters will start getting smutty! Woohoo!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Excited for her date, Sansa starts off the day in a great mood, but is puzzled by Olenna's suddenly cold behavior towards her.

Sansa felt like a little kid when she woke up the next morning. Although she was excited about a date and not, say, Easter egg hunts or Christmas presents, there was still no denying she had a positively sunny outlook. She checked her phone, and she already had a text from Sandor, just wishing her good morning, and hoping she slept well, but it made her smile.

She stood in front of her closet for much longer than she normally would have, since she was going to pack an outfit to take with her to wear after. She supposed she could have come back to change, but that would quickly move up their inevitable conversation about her living situation. No, she could take an extra bag with an outfit to change into, and leave her dance clothes in the changing room, for now. There was always a chance a cutthroat girl would swipe it, but that was a risk she was willing to take. Or maybe she could ask Petyr about one of the dressing rooms. Since she was a lead this year, she was technically entitled to one. It was one of the perks, along with the pay raise and extra comp tickets.

Sansa’s day-to-day clothing choices bordered on the uniform, and varied slightly only depending on the weather. Her summer uniform was a pair of tights, which she normally wore from the time she left the house until the time she returned, as they were just too big a hassle to take on and off. Even in the hottest days of summer, they still never overheated her, since they were so breathable. Over the tights, she would wear a pair of short jean shorts and tank top in summer, which she swapped out for a leotard and thin, gauzy skirt once she reached the studio. She usually wore a pair of sneakers, or maybe a pair of flats. At night, she typically just pulled the shorts on over her tights and leotard, and left the tank top in her bag.

In the autumn, she swapped out the tank top for a cardigan, gradually adding warmer and warmer accessories as the weather got colder. When it got a little colder, under 30 degrees, she wore boots and a coat over her tights and leotard. Only in the coldest winter days, if wind chill was below zero, would she actually wear pants and a sweater to the studio, and change into her dance uniform once she arrived. Her sister thought she was crazy, but Sansa argued that, as she walked to the studio, she was always moving, and thus she never got that cold. December and January, she would walk through blizzards in a pair of knee-high boots and a long peacoat, a hat pulled low over her head, a scarf wound around her face, hands tucked into mittens, with her thighs practically bare in her normal dance tights, with maybe a knee-length skirt over the tights.

Today, Sansa pulled on a pair of dove grey tights shot through with silver accent, which just barely skirted the dress policy of “muted neutrals”. She pulled on a pair of jean shorts, so short the inseam was only an inch, the kind that were cutoff, and the front pockets stuck out longer than the actual leg. It was Sansa’s one vanity, her legs and ass. Since she didn’t have much going on in the boob department, she felt entitled to show off in impossibly tiny booty shorts. She pulled on a dark green tank top, embroidered around the neckline with little silver stars. Lastly, she put on a pair of black flats. She examined herself in the full-length mirror, and actually liked what she saw. Maybe she wouldn’t need to bring extra clothes with her.

She brushed out her hair until it was soft and shining. Since she wanted to wear it down later, she pulled it into a topknot for the day, instead of her normal chignon, so when she took it down after rehearsal, it would have nice volume and bounce. She didn’t bother much with makeup, she would add some eyeliner and mascara at the end of the day. She looked over her jewelry box to see if anything caught her eye. She didn’t normally wear jewelry, but she selected a pair of silver studs, in the shape of leaping fish. Sansa grabbed her bag, packed her leotard and skirt for the day, pure white leotard with a pale pink skirt, and threw a new pair of pointe shoes in as well, in case her current pair wore out.

Sansa headed downstairs, where her coffee maker, which she set on a timer each night before going to bed, had already brewed just enough coffee to fill her travel mug. She mixed it the way she liked it, with half and half and two spoonfuls of raw brown sugar, then threw it into her bag. It was too warm to drink while she walked, so she would wait until she arrived and drink while she warmed up. It always annoyed Olenna, but she hardly ever seriously complained.

Once she was ready to leave, Sansa pulled out her head phones, picked the perfect walking song, and headed out, setting the alarm and locking the door behind her.

She listened to a few songs on her walk, peppy and upbeat. She started to dance a little as she walked, lip syncing along with the words. She heard a couple guys catcall her over the music, but she ignored it. Nothing was going to ruin her perfect mood today. She was still bopping as she arrived at the studio, heading back to the communal dressing room to change, pulling off her tank top and shorts, pulling on the white leotard and skirt. She folded the tank and shorts and repacked them in her bag, then sashayed into the smaller rehearsal room to put on her pointe shoes.

The men were not here yet, this morning the _pas de quatre_ and Sansa would rehearse together for Act 2. Sansa smiled at Margaery and Jeyne, as well as the other two members of the _pas de quatre_ , Marcella and Rosalind. Sansa sat down, took off her headphones and started to tie up her ballet shoes.

Margaery glanced over at Sansa, and the giant smile on her face. “What’s got you in such a good mood, Sansa?” the other dancer asked, a sweet smile on her face. “You look like the cat that got the cream.”

“Or is going to get it,” Jeyne joked, and all the girls laughed.

“That’s it,” Margaery agreed. “You have a dick appointment or something?”

Sansa shrugged, trying to keep her expression neutral, but failing terribly. “Maybe.”

She pulled out her travel mug of coffee, took a sip, then stood and went to the barre to begin warming up. Sansa had a particular talent for holding a drink while she danced, but never spilling it. She kept one hand on the wooden rail, feet in first position, her other arm holding her travel mug, and as she ran through her favorite warmup, _grand plie,_ double _fondu, plie, eleve,_ back down to first position, forward bend, back bend, then repeat. There was something graceful and lazy about the way she performed this warm up. Every time she returned back to standing from a _plie_ , or a bend, she took a sip of coffee. That was why she had designed this warm-up, minimal arm movement.

Olenna sailed in, followed shortly by Sandor. Olenna took one look at Sansa, and began to bark at her.

“Sansa, if I have told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times. No coffee on my dance floor. Put it away.”

Sansa made an exaggerated pouty face, bottom lip jutting out just a few centimeters. “Please Olenna, just a few more minutes?”

Sandor smirked at her as he passed behind Olenna and crossed to the piano.

“No, come on, I’m tired of telling you.”

Sansa could tell Olenna was in no mood for joking, so she ran to her bag on the other side of the room, chugged as much of her coffee as she could, then ran back to her position.

“And your tights are not dress code.”

“Olenna,” Sansa complained. “I wear these tights all the time, you’ve never said anything.”

“Well, I’m saying something now. Don’t wear them again.”

Sansa was a little stung, but thought maybe Olenna was just in a bad mood, or maybe Sansa had been pushing it lately. Olenna had to set an example, run a tight rehearsal, or she might get grief from Petyr. Sansa fell into warm-ups good naturedly, but it soon became clear that Sansa could do nothing right. Olenna criticized her form, her turnout, her attention.

When it came to rehearsing Act II, Olenna had nothing good to say about the lead ballerina. Sansa had started with such a cheery disposition, a sunny mood that no one could overcast. Slowly, the good mood left her, though not entirely. By lunch break, however, Sansa had had enough, which had not escaped Olenna’s notice. As soon as the ballet instructor called for lunch, she turned to Sansa.

“Miss Stark, my office.”

Sansa followed her, preparing a wounded, indignant speech in her head, but when the door shut, Olenna turned back to Sansa with a look that brokered no argument. “Sit,” she ordered, and Sansa couldn’t help but obey, having followed her commands willingly for going on 6 years now.

Olenna’s office was as different from Petyr’s as day and night. For one thing, it was much smaller, having been converted from one of the old dressing rooms. The vanity had been removed and replaced with a tiny metal desk. The walls were covered with pictures of all the best _prima donnas_ of the day, many of them signed. Older black and white pictures hung by the door, of Olenna’s favorite classical ballerinas, the ones who had been popular when she was a girl, and then the ones from decades, even centuries before her birth. Sansa always liked to come in and look at the pictures, dream of being a world-renowned ballerina someday. Her dreams were a little smaller now, but Olenna had always said there was nothing shameful in a life lived on a smaller stage, it was the beauty you created that mattered, and the quality of your heart. Olenna was always sharing her wisdom with Sansa, often during the times Sansa least expected it.

Now, Olenna leaned on the desk, standing in front of the rickety chair Sansa occupied, the only other chair in the tiny office. “Sansa,” she said seriously, “how long has this been going on with Petyr?”

Sansa was stunned. Olenna took one look at her face, which was quickly turning to revulsion, and let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank God. I can see from your face that you have been wrongly accused.”

Sansa started to stand, indignation beginning to flow through her. “Accused!” she cried, and Olenna pushed her back down, sushing her.

“Quiet, girl. These walls are like tissue.”

“Accused by whom?” Sansa resumed in a quieter tone.

“One of the girls. I will not give names, I am not a snitch-” she held up one finger to silence Sansa, who had been about to interrupt Olenna to ask who had spoken to her.

“She came to me this morning with this, and said she found it in Petyr’s office.”

Olenna held up a charm bracelet, a childish trinket, and Sansa felt like a very sharp needle had pierced her heart, as she looked at the charms, a pair of ballet slippers, a ball of yarn, a shaggy dog, a pair of ice skates. Sansa still remembered getting it when she was ten years old for Christmas, how she’d gotten a new charm every year for Christmas that was always hung on the tree Christmas morning on a beautiful ribbon, a different ribbon every year. She still had the ribbons. There were 7 charms. Mum had kept up the tradition for a while…

“I lost that bracelet last spring. I cried for two days.” Sansa felt like her blood was boiling, like she could punch something until her bones broke. “And what the fuck was she doing in Petyr’s office, if she’s so innocent.”

Olenna handed back the bracelet with a shrug, although her eyes belied the casual gesture. “She made up an excuse, that Petyr had invited her in to recommend a ballet workshop she should try out for. I am sorry, Sansa. I should have known.”

Sansa didn’t know whether to cry or to scream. She settled for holding the bracelet, running her fingers over the well-worn charms.

Olenna stood up, and took Sansa’s hand. “Come on, let’s go get lunch, just the two of us. My treat.”

Sansa let Olenna pull her out of the office, who made sure it locked behind them. Sansa had learned one lesson, at least, you couldn’t trust anyone. Even Olenna had believed she had slept with Petyr to get the part, or at least to influence him in her direction. Then her mentor had taken out that frustration on her all morning, before even giving Sansa a chance to respond. As much as she loved Olenna, Sansa didn’t know if she could ever forgive her for thi.

She tried to put it aside, though. Olenna was her oldest friend, other than her sister. They had a good working relationship, having surpassed the strict teacher-student relationship to a camaraderie that was not just professional. And she had also known Sansa’s mother.

Olenna led Sansa to her favorite deli. They ordered sandwiches and sat outside to eat, in a little park a few blocks from the studio. They talked a little, then Olenna broached the subject again.

“I owe you a deep apology, Sansa. I am so very sorry. You came in this morning so happy, like the cat that caught the canary, and I let myself think horrible things. And the girl told me this just before we went in to rehearse, I didn’t have time to speak to you. I am sorry I was so horrible. Will you forgive me?”

Sansa nodded immediately. “Yes, of course. I was angry about it, but I can’t tell you how happy I am to get my bracelet back.”

Olenna smiled then, took a thoughtful bite of her sandwich. After she’d swallowed, she glanced at Sansa out of the corner of her eye. “If you don’t mind my asking, why did you look like you were on cloud 9 this morning?”

Sansa grinned, chewing thoughtfully. She shrugged one shoulder and looked away, like she had a secret. “I don’t know. Maybe I won’t tell you, now.”

Olenna laughed. “It would serve me right, but you can’t hide from me. I can tell something or someone has turned your head round.”

“Well, as it so happens, I have a date tonight.”

“I thought so. With who?”

Sansa glanced at her dance teacher. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? I’m not embarrassed, but to tell you the truth, I do think Petyr was trying to proposition me last night, and I don’t know how he’ll take it.”

“No, I won’t tell anyone. It’s no one’s business but yours.”

“Sandor.”

Olenna smiled, and Sansa was thrilled to see a gleam in the older woman’s eye. “I’ve seen him watching you for a few weeks now, I thought he was pining. And I saw you flirting, but I didn’t know it was serious.” She thought a moment, then nodded her head. “I am glad for you; he is a good man. He will be good for you. You’re right, though. Petyr won’t like it.”

“Well, it’s none of his business, like you said.”

“True enough. Besides, he’ll move on to the next skirt soon enough. You know how men like him are.” Olenna rolled her eyes. While she respected the director and appreciated his creative leadership, she detested the man personally, and made no pretense of her feelings to Sansa, which Sansa enjoyed.

“So, where are you going tonight?” Olenna asked, beginning to gather the remnants of her meal. Sansa finished chewing the rest of her sandwich and followed suit.

“I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me. Wants it to be a surprise.”

“Are you going home to change before?”

“No, I was going to wear my shorts and tank top. Do you have anywhere I could put my tights and shoes? I was going to risk leaving them in the changing room, but now after my bracelet, I would rather just throw them out. And I know they aren’t dress code, but I do love these tights.”

Olenna gave Sansa another soft glance, then nodded. “You should be using one of the private dressing rooms, you are the lead, after all. I have the key at my desk, I’ll give it to you after rehearsal.”

“Thank you. I’ve wanted to ask Peter, but I don’t want it to look like favoritism.”

“I will make a show of announcing it in front of everyone, so they will know it was me, and not Peter.”

“Thank you. It’ll be nice to have my own room!”

As they left the deli, Sansa felt her phone buzz from where it was tucked into her leotard. A text from Sandor. _Everything ok?_

Sansa smiled and texted back. _Everything’s fine. I’ll tell you tonight._

Sansa’s smile felt permanently plastered across her face again. Everything was great, and she was damned if it wasn’t going to stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Date Night! Who's excited!?!
> 
> Glossary: [Ballet Glossary](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_ballet#)
> 
> Grand plie: A full plié or bending of the knees.  
> Fondu: A lowering of the body made by bending the knee of the supporting leg, the working leg extending out on the ground or in the air.  
> Eleve: Rising to pointe or demi-pointe from straight legs and flat feet.  
> First position: Turned out legs with the feet pointing in opposite directions, heels touching.
> 
> Songs that inspired Sansa's morning bop to work:
> 
> Into You by Ariana Grande  
> Naked Alone by L Devine, INDIIA  
> Blinding Lights by The Weeknd
> 
> Also, I'm planning on posting a new SanSan AU this weekend. It's the James Bond/Game of Thrones crossover no one ever asked for! So if anyone's interested, check my author page on AO3 on Saturday.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date Night, Part 1

Sandor waited at the back door for Sansa to finish changing. The Russian _grand dame_ had given her own performance at the end of the rehearsal, calling after Sansa so all of the principals and _corps_ could hear: “Sansa, did Petyr give you the key to your dressing room yet? That man would forget his head if it wasn’t attached. Come, I give it to you now.”

Sandor supposed Sansa would tell him about that, as well. For now he waited, trying to be patient. He smoked a cigarette, fiddled with his phone, combed his hair back. He really was nervous, although that was hardly surprising. It had been years since he’d been on a date, and they had all been Tinder dates, nice enough, but no real chemistry on either side, easy to forget. No one as beautiful or enchanting as Sansa. Just thinking about her got his blood flowing, made him feel like a younger man.

The door opened, and Sandor turned, heart in his throat. Sansa looked amazing, yet casual in a pair of shorts, a green tank top, and black flats, her hair released from its up-do to curl around her shoulders. But damn, did the tank top have to dip so low, showing him the curves of her breasts? Did those shorts have to be the tiniest shorts in creation? He wondered if one leg would fit snug over one of his forearms. She’d forgone her perpetual tights, and he’d never seen her legs bare. They were long and shapely, well-muscled thighs, calves perfectly curved down to slender ankles. Fuck, he loved her legs.

And then there was that grin on her face, like she knew she looked good and she was glad he was looking. “Hi,” he croaked out.

“Hi,” she said in a facetiously low voice, mimicking him playfully.

“You look nice. Hard to believe you spent all day working.”

She beamed. “Thank you. You look pretty good, too.”

He’d traded his usual jeans, T-shirts, and sneakers for a pair of charcoal grey slacks, a short-sleeved blue polo, and a pair of black loafers. “Well, you always look so nice. Couldn’t look like a bum, could I?”

He looked at his watch. It was almost 6 PM. “Is it too early for a drink? Some food?”

“No, not for me. I’m starving.”

Sandor led her east, asked how her day had been, which was strange, considering he’d been there the whole time. Sansa told him about her conversation with Olenna, showed him the charm bracelet someone had “found” in Petyr’s office.

“So that’s why she was in such a mood all day,” Sandor ruminated. “Seems pretty rude of her to assume you were sleeping with your boss. Why didn’t she just ask you?”

“She said someone told her right before she walked in, and she didn’t have time.”

“Still, she could have waited to assume.”

“Apparently, when she saw what a good mood I was in, it confirmed the gossip. You didn’t see who she was talking to, did you? You walked in right after her.”

Sandor thought back. “Yeah, that mousy one. Jeyne?”

Sansa looked up at him. “Seriously? That bitch!”

“What are you gonna do to her?” Sandor asked. The stubborn set of her jaw concerned him somewhat.

“Nothing she doesn’t deserve,” she muttered darkly.

“Remind me not to piss you off!” Sandor chuckled.

He led her down a side alley, then down a small flight of concrete stairs to a basement entrance. He glanced at Sansa, who by all rights should have been at least a little nervous by their surroundings. She seemed unconcerned.

“Don’t startle easy, do you?”

“Let’s just say I came prepared,” she said, slipping a black taser out of a pocket of her bag. Sandor glanced out of the corner of his eye as he knocked on the door.

“Is it weird that turns me on a little?”

Sansa shrugged one elegant shoulder. “A little.”

The door opened and a man roughly the size of a horse leaned on the door jamb. “Sandor fucking Clegane,” he said in a broad Scottish brogue.

“Tormund, you cocksucker. Fucked any bears lately?”

If Sansa was confused, she didn’t show it as Tormund showed them in. He smiled politely at Sansa as he shut the door behind them.

“Aren’t you going to introduce your friend, Sandor?” Tormund asked, smiling a big toothy grin that on another man might have been creepy or leering, but on the six-foot, stoutly-muscled redhead seemed almost endearing.

“No,” Sandor grunted.

Sansa stuck out her hand. “Sansa Stark.”

Tormund enveloped her little hand in both of his, pumping up in down. “Well, any friend of Sandor’s-”

“-Knows to keep far away from you. Ease up, there, Giantsbane.”

Sandor led Sansa through a little corridor, to some kind of dark nightclub crossed with a speakeasy. Sansa’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the room dimly lit by a few artsy spotlights aimed at the walls and a string of lights that ran under the old wood bar that looked like it had been salvaged from a shipwreck. A small piano stood in the center, and a young woman was playing slow jazz standards. Sansa recognized _Once Upon a Summertime_ as Sandor led her to a booth.

“Sandor, what is this place? Is this place illegal or something?”

Sandor shrugged. “It doesn’t have a liquor license, if that’s what you’re asking.”

A curvy red-head came over to the table, smile a mile wide. “Well, if it isn’t Sandor and a mysterious lady friend. How’ve you been?”

“Oh, hey Ros. Sansa, this is Tormund’s daughter. Old friend.”

“Nice to meet you. What can I get you?”

“You hungry?” Tormund asked Sansa. She looked around, confused.

“They serve food? I didn’t see a menu.”

“I can rustle something up if you want,” Ros offered. “I just took a nice lasagna out of the oven.”

“That’d be nice, thanks. And can I have a Grey Goose on ice?”

Sandor blinked, while Ros guffawed. “All right. Sounds like a man’s drink. What’ll you have Sandor, Shirley Temple?”

“Fucking hilarious, Ros. Scotch, please.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

The pretty brunette at the piano began to sing along to the piano music. Sansa turned to watch her, admiring both her stunning good looks and low, throaty croon.

_Now another wintertime has come and gone_

_The pigeons feeding in the square have flown_

_But I remember when the vespers chimed_

_You loved me once upon a summertime_

The song ended and the room was quiet for a minute, light applause rolled over the tables, quiet not because the audience was unappreciative, just spellbound and still.

Ros came back with a tray of drinks and plates of lasagna. She winked at Sansa, before heading to the next table, hips swinging. The piano player started another song, a slow, soft version of _Manhattan_ , her voice low and mellow like old Scotch.

_We’ll take Manhattan_

_The Bronx and Staten Island too_

Sansa took a bit of her lasagna. “Wow, this is amazing.” The pasta was perfectly cooked, the sauce spicy and rich, covered in a layer of bubbling cheese. Sansa took another bite, washing it down with a sip of her drink.

“So, straight vodka, huh?” Sandor asked between bites of his own lasagna.

Sansa shrugged. “Eh, why fuck around? Besides, you know how crazy they are about your weight. I don’t need the extra calories. I mean, I’m already pushing it with lasagna.”

“You fucking crazy?” Sandor grunted, looking her up and down. “Do you even have any body fat?”

Sansa shrugged. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess. Though sometimes I wish I had curves. But yeah, they frown on it, in my business. We just all pretend that the optimal woman looks like a twelve-year old boy.”

She eyed the lovely Ros as she brought by a carafe of water and two glasses. They thanked her and she was on her way again, never seeming to slow down for more than a moment.

“How do you know Ros and Tormund?”

“He was the first person I met after I came over from Scotland. It was tough to find work as a pianist. Did a lot of odd jobs in the meantime, down at the docks, meatpacking district, you name it. He worked with me at a job unloading trucks, got a me a job at a club as a bouncer. The club eventually let me play some nights, though I wasn’t much good at it.”

“What do you mean, you play beautifully.”

“Doesn’t matter how you play when you look like me. People couldn’t get over seeing a big scarred ox like me sitting at the piano playing something delicate.”

Sansa finished her lasagna, pushing the plate aside. The pianist had just finished _Manhattan_ , and began to play _I Walk a Little Faster_.

“I love this song,” Sansa murmured, knocking back the rest of her vodka as Sandor began to nurse his Scotch, dark, liquid eyes locked on Sansa as the singer began to croon.

_Pretending that we’ll meet_

_Each time I turn a corner, I walk a little faster_

_Pretending life is sweet_

_‘Cause love’s around the corner, I walk a little faster_

Sandor nods. “She plays a lot of Blossom Dearie. She’s got the pipes for it, might as well.”

Sansa turned back. “You know her?”

Sandor nods again. “Her name’s Shae, she’s like a sister to me after her own folks died.”

“What about yours?”

He shakes his head. “I left home when I was 16 and I never looked back.”

“Where in Scotland are you from?”

“Glasgow. What about you, English?”

“Northampton. You know where that is?”

“In the middle?”

She laughed. “True.”

“Where is it?” Sandor asked, sipping his Scotch, the amber liquid like fire down his throat, but good fire, pure and clarifying.

She shrugged. “It’s nowhere special. I’ve just never met anyone who’s actually heard of it before.” She was quiet for a minute. “I miss it sometimes. The others don’t really remember it, but we had a beautiful house there with a garden.”

“Why’d you come here?”

“Dad got a better job here. Mum wanted to raise us in New York, she said there were better opportunities, better education here. Much more ballet. Back in Northampton, ballet was something little girls did, it wasn’t a viable career for a young woman. So we came here when I was 10, my younger sister was 8, and Bran was only a baby. Rickon was born here.”

“How many siblings you have?”

“One sister, and four brothers.”

“You have five siblings?”

Her smile faltered. “I did.”

Ros came by the table. “Freshen up your drink, there?” she asked Sansa. Sansa nodded and pushed the glass towards her.

She grinned at Sandor. “You going to nurse that Scotch all night?”

“Good Scotch should be savored,” he growled at her, though he did pick up the glass and knock back the rest of its contents. “Aye, I’ll have another, Ros.”

Shae finished playing and stood up from the piano. She nodded politely in response to the applause, then waved at Sandor and came over.

Sansa thought she was a beautiful woman, hair black as coal and curly, eyes so dark they almost looked black, although that could have just been the low light. She had a sweet smile for Sandor, and looked curiously at Sansa.

“Shae, this is my friend Sansa. She’s a dancer at the company where I play.”

Shae nodded, held out her hand. “You’re a ballerina? A real ballerina?” Sansa couldn’t quite place her accent, but it sounded Greek, maybe. Definitely Mediterranean.

Sansa nodded. “You should come see a show sometime, I’ll get you tickets.”

Shae’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Sure, I get comp tickets every season, but I almost never use them. I’ll give them to Sandor to give to you. You just take them to the box office, and pick when you want to come.”

“You should come see Swan Lake in October; she got the lead.”

Sansa smiled shyly, felt her cheeks flush. It was a strange sensation, having someone boast about her to someone else. It filled her with a swell of pride to be complimented, fussed over.

“That’s amazing! I would love to come, if I can get this big lug to take me.” Shae laughed, a sweet, tinkling sound. “Well, I’m going to go get a drink, but it was nice to meet you.”

As Shae walked away, Ros appeared with their drinks, and suddenly Sansa cried, “Shit, I just realized I forgot to text my sister something. One second.”

She dug in her bag and brought out her phone, unlocking it and sending a quick text. She received one back quickly, then laughed.

“What’s funny?” Sandor asked

“Just texting my sister that our brothers will be joining her and I for dinner tomorrow. Then I told my sister I forgot to text her because I went out, and she said she doesn’t believe that I’m actually out doing something social. She said ‘Pics or it didn’t happen’. Would you take it? Maybe if she sees the bar, she’ll actually believe me.”

Sandor agreed, and Sansa unlocked her phone, opened the camera app and handed it to him.

“Christ, you’ve got a fucking fancy phone. What the bloody hell are all these settings for?”

“Just hit the big one in the middle, doofus.” Sansa smiled and Sandor took the picture. He stared at the image for a moment.

“That’s a really good picture. How, there’s hardly any light?”

“Oh, it’s a new phone, it has a nighttime setting thing.” Sansa quickly sent the text.

“Hmm,” Sandor grunted, sipping his drink. “So you’re like rich or something? You live in New York, go to fancy ballet schools, brand new phone?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty well off.” She shrugged.

Sandor shook his head. “Why is it people with money always think it’s no big deal?”

Sansa sipped her drink. “Why is it a big deal? I’m no different than anyone else. I still worry about money; I worry that I spend too much sometimes.” She shrugged. “What, you think I’m like a different person now?”

It was Sandor’s time to shrug. “Maybe. You don’t understand what it’s like for people like me. When I was talking about working all those odd jobs, you don’t know what that’s like do you?’

“No, I don’t. But maybe you don’t know what I’ve gone through.”

Sandor rolled his eyes. “Nannies and prep school?”

“I’d give it all up to have my family back.”

Sandor froze, his drink halfway to his lips. Sansa raised hers in a mock ‘cheers’ and sipped.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.”

“No, you were too busy being superior. I understand.”

They sat a moment in careful silence. “Can I ask what happened?”

Sansa shrugged, swirling her drink in her hands. She was definitely feeling tipsy, just feeling the glow of the vodka. She drank the rest, wincing slightly at the burn.

“My dad died when I was 14, brain cancer. He went quick. My mother and my older brother Robb died in a car crash 7 years ago.”

“You were 15?”

“17.”

“Aren’t you 22?”

“I’m 24.”

“Really?”

She laughed. “Why would I lie. You want to see my ID?”

“No, I believe you. I just thought- that night I first met you, I thought you were 18.”

She shook her head. “Just turned 19.”

“Wasn’t that 4 years ago?”

“5. Nice to know I made an impression,” she chuckled.

Sandor settled back into the booth, watching her with calculating eyes. “I am sorry about your family. Where did the money come from then?”

“Insurance policies, savings, and a house my grandparents had left my parents, all paid off. We rent the basement, but most of that money goes to my brothers.” She smiled. “Luckily someone else handles their finances.”

“You’re responsible for your brothers? They must be pretty young.”

“Bran’s 14, Rickon’s 12. No, I tried to get custody, but the courts wouldn’t let me. It was probably the right decision; I was too young. They live with my aunt Lysa in suburbia. I get to see them once a month, sometimes oftener. Arya’s 20, she goes to NYU. She doesn’t come home as often as I’d like, but every couple of weekends.”

Sandor cocks his head to the side. “You said you have five siblings, that’s only 3, and Robb who died.”

“Yeah, my brother Jon, he’s in the military. He went back home when he turned 18, didn’t like it here. He was Dad’s kid from another marriage before my mum. He and Mum never got along. He and Robb were the same age, among other things.”

“Aye, she must not have liked that. What happened to Jon’s mother?”

“She died when he was a kid, so he didn’t have anyone else.”

Ros stopped by again. “One more for the road, kids?”

“None for me, thanks, I’m pretty well scuppered,” Sansa smiled, handing Ros her empty glass.

“Me neither. Just tell me what the damage is.”

Ros took a paper slip from her apron pocket, laid it on the table. “When you’re ready.”

Sansa opened her wallet, but Sandor protested. “No, I said I would take you out.”

“You have to let me chip in something, I know how expensive Grey Goose is.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, I get a family discount.”

“Well, at least let me leave the tip.”

Sandor agreed, but his eyes nearly bugged out of his head when Sansa laid down three crisp twenties.

“You realize that’s like a 100% tip, right?”

“Like I said, I’m not good with money,” she said with a smile.

Sandor walked out with her. Sansa waved at Shae as she sat back down at the piano, beginning the intro for _Someone to Watch Over Me._

_There’s a saying old, says that love is blind_

_Still we’re often told seek and ye shall find_

_So I’m going to seek a certain lass I’ve had in mind_

Sandor turned back to look at Shae, who winked at him. Sandor shook his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hopefully this explains some of the mystery surrounding Sansa's living situation. For those who aren't familiar, everything in New York is expensive, and Sansa lives in a very expensive house, so now we found out why. Sandor kind of stepped it in, but he was big enough to admit when he was wrong.
> 
> Songs that inspired this chapter:  
> Once Upon a Summertime  
> Manhattan  
> I Walk a Little Faster  
> Someone to Watch Over Me  
> All by Blossom Dearie, who is my favorite old-timey singer from the 50s and 60s. I always start every modern AU I write pledging I won't turn it into a songfic, but what can I say, I have no willpower!
> 
> Part 2 of Date Night will be posted soon. Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date Night Part 2!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight warning for body shame/ body issues. I don't know if that's something that would bother anybody, but just in case. If you want to skip, stop reading at "Sandor was chagrined" and start reading at "Do you want to dance?"

Sandor let Tormund pull him into a bear hug, pounding his back a few times before letting him go, though he rolled his eyes.

Once the door was shut behind them, Sansa turned on her heel on the stairs back up to street level, two stairs ahead of Sandor. She liked finally being at his eye level. Sandor hesitated, seeming suddenly nervous.

Sansa smiled slowly, enjoying the sudden power shift. “I just wanted to thank you for taking me out tonight.”

“Well, I er- I enjoyed myself, too.”

Sansa leaned forward, one hand going up to rest on his cheek that was smooth and unblemished. She moved forward slowly, giving him plenty of time to back away or stop her if he wanted to. Her lips touched his softly, for a moment the chaste kiss of a young girl. Then Sansa opened her mouth and Sandor followed suit, letting Sansa’s tongue flit across his, as she reached her other hand around his neck, her fingers nestling in his hair. Sandor’s hands encircled her waist, pulling her against him, until she could feel his lean, muscular torso against hers.

Sansa pulled away slightly to catch her breath, as Sandor kissed down the side of her neck. “I thought you were too old for me,” Sansa teased, moaning as he sucked at her neck right behind her ear.

“I am too old for you, woman,” he growled against her neck.

“How old are you?” she asked huskily, running her fingers through his long raven hair, noticing how it was speckled here and there with grey.

He paused, pulled back from her neck to look her in the eye. “36.”

She shrugged. “My father was thirteen years older than my mother.”

Sandor lay his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “Wonder what they’d say if they could see you now, snogging a man you barely know, twelve years older than you.”

Sansa smiled, not from amusement. She felt wistful, melancholy. “They can’t see me though. I might be a little bird, but even I know nothing happens when you die.” She shrugged. “So why not enjoy myself? My sister was right, I never do anything. I don’t want to look back at my youth and find that I spent it all in barre class.”

“So you’ll spend it all at a bar?” Sandor asked, mouth quirking at the play on words.

“Maybe there’s a middle ground. But I know I haven’t been fucked in a while. And never well. You seem like someone who could do the job.”

Sandor’s eyes widened, flickering quickly over her face, seeming to search for something. “You putting me on?”

Sansa wound her arms around his neck, shaking her head. “No. I wouldn’t do that. And I don’t usually offer invitations to my bed.”

“Why in the hell would you want me?”

Sansa cocked her head, trying to put it into words. “If you fuck half as good as you play piano, I’ll be satisfied.”

He backed away, shaking his head. “You’re fucking mad.”

He stepped around Sansa, took the stairs two at a time. Sansa looked after him, shamelessly checking out his ass in his fitted slacks. She sighed and followed him up to the street.

“Will you at least walk me home?”

Sandor turned to glare at her. “Walk? Where the fuck do you live?”

“A few blocks away.”

Sandor skidded to a halt, and Sansa almost ran into him. “You have a house in the Upper West Side?”

“ _I_ don’t have a house, technically it belongs to all the kids. Except Jon, he signed away his share when he left.”

“You own a quarter of a house in the Upper West Side?”

Sansa nodded. “It’s held in trust until Rickon turns 18, though, and then we’ll all decide what to do with it.”

Sandor shook his head. “Yes, I’ll walk you home.”

“I’m not saying I’m not privileged. Far from it. I know I’ve had a relatively easy life.”

“You’re young. I’m sure it’ll all go to crap for you soon.”

“That’s the spirit,” Sansa cried, trotting to keep up with Sandor. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“Fuck me!” Sandor stopped, laying his head back and shutting his eyes.

Sansa grinned up at him, shrugging one elegant shoulder. “I’m trying.”

Sandor opened his eyes, letting out a low chuckle. “Which way, little bird?”

She led him back down the street, then headed west. Sandor slowed his pace this time, falling into step beside her.

“So, let me make sure I understand you. You don’t want to fuck me?”

“Sansa,” Sandor sighed, aghast, stopping on the sidewalk to stare at her.

Sansa stopped, turning to face him. “Well?”

A group of teenage boys were passing them, walking the other way. One of them looked at Sandor as he passed, eyed his face and huge shoulders, then turned to look glassy-eyed at Sansa.

“Should I, like, call the cops or something? Like, how old are you?” he asked Sansa, sounding like he was well and truly blazed.

“Old enough to stick my foot up your ass,” Sansa sniped.

The boy rolled his eyes and turned to follow his friends. He shot back over his shoulder, “So, like, 12?”

“Eat a syphilitic dick, cock face!” Sansa shouted after him.

Sandor snorted. “Listening to you swear is an experience, I have to say.”

“I’m an acquired taste.”

“I’m sure you are.”

Sansa laughed, nudging her shoulder against his as they resumed walking. “See, we have chemistry! When’s the last time you bantered like this?”

“Banter’s not a reason to fuck someone. You don’t even know me.”

“Oh, and you’ve never fucked someone you didn’t know?”

“I didn’t say that. I could be a murderer, for fuck’s sake.”

“If you were going to murder me, it probably would have been in that dark alley, not in my house.”

They crossed a street, came to a block of ancient-looking houses. Sansa stopped at the first one. “This is me.”

Sandor looked up at the three-story brick building, narrow, but still worth more than everything he owned times ten. “Son of a bitch.”

“Sure you won’t come up? We could have a nightcap, make out on my couch.”

“Fuck,” Sandor groaned. “I’m just a weak-willed bastard, I guess.”

Sansa yipped as she led the way up the walk. She unlocked the high wrought-iron gate, which clanged shut behind Sandor like a gong.

`````````````

Sansa unlocked the front door and went to the security panel on the wall. She turned to glance at him, he turned around as she punched in the security code, then she shut the thick door and turned the deadbolt

Sandor examined what he could see of the house from where they stood in a little entryway, a coat rack to one side, along with a small table into which Sansa dumped the mail she’d collected from the floor in front of the door. One flight of stairs led up straight ahead from the door, while another led down to the left.

“That the basement apartment?”

“Sort of. It’s not really an apartment.”

Sandor glanced from the basement stairs to the kitchen he could see at the top of the stairs. “Wait, that guy could just waltz up here at any moment?”

Sansa laughed as she led the way up the stairs. “He won’t, he’s not even here. He’s in LA.”

“But when he is here. Isn’t it weird?” Sandor followed her up the stairs to another landing. To the left, another flight of stairs led up to the next floor, while a small entryway to the right opened on the kitchen. The kitchen was surprisingly old-fashioned, white cupboards, reddish-brown countertops, an ancient-looking toaster oven.

“What the fuck. Why is your fridge avocado green?”

“I told you, I have a nice house and a little trust fund. What I do not have is like 100 grand to renovate the kitchen.”

“How much could a fridge cost?

“I might also be lacking motivation.” Sansa shrugged and kicked off her shoes by the stairs, dumped her messenger bag on the counter before going to a tall armoire and pulling out two crystal rocks glasses from a shelf. She opened up the top cabinet, took down a bottle of Grey Goose, then scrutinized the contents of her liquor selection.

Sandor came to stand behind her. “What do you have?”

A bottle of coconut rum, some bottom-shelf dark rum, fairly good quality gin. “Shit. You have shit,” he laughed.

“Hmm. I seem to remember,” Sansa murmured, walking over to the fridge to try and open a little cabinet tucked high up and way back. Sandor couldn’t help but let his eyes flick over her long legs as she was occupied, then he realized he should probably help her.

“Who the fuck puts a cabinet there?” Sandor asked, reaching over Sansa to swing first the left, then the right door open.

“My grandparents, I guess. You see a bottle?”

Sandor pulled out a bottle, coated in a layer of dust. He shut the cabinet doors again, then examined the bottle. Once he scrubbed away the dust, he cocked an eyebrow.

“Who drank Scotch?”

“My Grandpa, I think. Not very often, though. I think that’s why it was up there. I’m not even sure how I remembered that was there. Is it good?”

“This is Laphroaig, fancy shit. It’s 25 years old and it’s probably worth three or four hundred dollars.”

“Nice! Bust it open! You want ice?” Her smile faltered under his glower. “Or is that like heresy or something?”

He shook his head. “You sure you want me to drink this?”

“Yeah, why not. No one else is going to. At least you’ll enjoy it.”

Sansa opened the freezer and plopped a few ice cubes in her glass, then poured a generous shot of vodka over the ice. She opened the fridge next and grabbed a container that appeared to Sandor to contain nothing but lemon wedges.

“You employ a bar back or something?”

“Well, that’s me. I used to bar back.”

Sandor must have looked incredulous, because Sansa continued, “I did. After I turned 18. Cash inflow was pretty slow, probate took forever. In the end, if I wanted to eat, I had to get a job.”

Sandor finally decided to uncork the bottle of Scotch and pour himself a belt of the amber liquid. He couldn’t have said exactly why, but she seemed to have passed some kind of unspoken test. Sure, she was rich, but she hadn’t asked for it. She tipped like someone who had desperately needed them at one point in their life and knew how hard service was, and turns out she had. Rich people didn’t tip like that, unless they were really trying to impress someone important. She had a level head on her shoulders. He still didn’t understand the compass in her head that had pointed at him, but he was done protesting it. He’d spoken his piece, and if she was adamant that she wanted him, who was he to tell her she shouldn’t. Whether he wanted her, more than just physically, remained to be seen, but in the meantime, he would enjoy her company.

“You have any fancy filtered water in that time machine?” he asked, nodding to the fridge. “You know that thing’s probably older than I am?” he added as Sansa pulled a tall glass bottle from a shelf on the door.

“Eh, so’s the Scotch, probably. It’s been up there at least ten years. You want a glass?” He nodded and Sansa handed him a water glass, which he filled. Then dipped his finger in, just moistening the tip of his finger, he held it over the Scotch glass and let three drops fall in.

Sansa giggled. “What is that?”

Sandor shrugged. “It’s an old tradition, the water’s supposed to ‘open the flavors’ or some fucking shit. I don’t usually give a rat’s ass, but for Laphraig, I guess I better mind my manners.”

He swirled the glass and sniffed the liquid. It practically burnt his nose hairs off. He sighed and took a sip. The belt hit him like a punch in the gut, burning like black fire all the way down. It was good shit. He must have made a face, because Sansa laughed.

“That good, huh?”

“That’s the best Scotch I’ve ever fucking had,” he grumbled. “Your granda had good taste.”

Sansa led the way into the next room, an old-fashioned sitting room. Hardwood floors were covered in a plush Oriental rug, long velvet curtains were drawn over four windows on the south side of the room. In the middle of the room, Sansa turned on a floor lamp behind a lime green overstuffed couch. She set her drink on a coaster on a battered-looking coffee table, then walked over to a long, waist high console. Sandor spied a record player and a stack of milk crates. He wandered over and started flipping through the records. On the other side of the console was a TV, a giant thing probably weighed 60 pounds, the old kind with tubes.

“You could at least get a new TV, right?”

Sansa rolled her eyes and waved her hand to indicate the records. “Any requests?” she asked.

“These belonged to your parents?”

“Yep, they were nuts. This isn’t even half of their collection; the rest is upstairs. These are just my favorites.”

Sandor flipped through, growing more and more impressed. Queen, David Bowie, Miles Davis, Heart, Nat King Cole, Berlin Symphony, Cher, and more, with seemingly no system of organization or common factor. Sandor spotted one album, and showed Sansa. “You like Chet Baker?”

“Sure. Put it on.” She turned on the player, lifted the cover, and pulled the record out of both the cardboard cover and the paper sleeve. Sandor watched her lean over to check the needle before dropping it expertly onto the record, then pushing the button to start it spinning.

“Didn’t even know anyone really used those things anymore?” he said, as jazzy drums, soft piano, and sassy trumpet began to play. Sansa smiled and led the way to the couch.

Sandor followed, listening to the mellow vocals.

_I saw you last night and got that old feeling_

Sandor came and sat on the opposite edge of the couch, taking another sip of his drink as Sansa sipped hers.

“You could have asked for a lemon from Ros, I’m sure she would have given you one.”

“I’m not that picky.” She nodded to his drink. “Can I try?”

Sandor shrugged. “It’s your Scotch,” and handed her the glass.

“Should I smell it first?”

“Whatever you fucking want, who cares?’ his voice was gruff, but he laughed at the end. “We’re not in a country club.”

Sansa took a sip and almost immediately started to cough after swallowing. “Ugh! Why do you do that to yourself?”

Sandor laughed, taking back his glass. “Hey, it’s not that bad. You drink straight vodka.”

Sansa took a sip of vodka and winced. “Don’t get me wrong, vodka is a slap in the face. That felt like a kick in the balls.”

Sandor couldn’t help it. “You don’t have balls, do you?”

“I don’t. It was an expression.”

Sandor thought he had probably laughed more in the past three hours than he had in the past three months. He looked over at Sansa, tucked into the corner of the couch with her feet on the cushion between them. They were as far apart on the couch as they could be, but Sandor found himself just wanting to be closer to her. Sansa seemed to sense this. She took another sip of her drink, then leaned forward to set it on the coffee table before pushing herself up to her knees, kneeling in the middle of the couch, just inches away.

Sandor drained his drink, this time it went down smooth as velvet. Sansa reached out to take his glass, and then she hoisted herself into his lap, thighs straddling his hips. She leaned back to set his glass on the table, her thighs gripping his to keep from falling backward, spine beautifully arched, affording him an excellent view of her breasts, nipples poking through the thin material of her shirt. She leaned towards him, flashing him a brilliant smile.

“That’s cozy,” Sansa whispered, leaning forward but stopping just inches short of kissing Sandor. She smirked at him, feeling his body respond to hers. “Sure you don’t want to go home?”

Sandor surged up to her, his lips closing the gap to press against hers, his arms winding up around her hips and back, pulling her closer to him. His blood thrilled at her breathy gasp, decided to make it his mission to drag more of those sounds from her. He reached up into her hair, tipping her head back so he could kiss down her perfect neck, to the base of her throat, across her clavicle, back up to her ears to nibble on her earlobe. Sansa was melting under his touch, and it gave him a rush as strong as the pleasure of her soft skin under his fingers and lips, her hips bucking against his, her arms around his neck. She reached up and grasped his hair, and this time it was her turn to tilt his head back and claim his lips, tongue flicking across his, making him moan.

Sandor let his hands wander down now, caressing her shoulders, flicking aside the thin, stretchy straps of her tank top with his thumbs, so that they slid down over her arms. Then he moved farther down to grasp her waist, then down to cup her pert ass, gently squeezing. Sansa giggled against his mouth.

Chet was still crooning in the background, sweet and low, the sound of the celeste clear and aching.

_I get along without you very well_

_Of course I do_

_Except when soft rains fall_

_And drip from leaves that I recall_

_The thrill of being sheltered in your arms_

“This is such a romantic song to have my ass groped to,” Sansa grinned against his mouth.

Sandor chuckled. “Well, you’re the one who wanted your ass groped.”

“I did. I mean, I specifically requested fucking, but groping is good also.”

Sansa captured his mouth again, this time grinding her hips against his. Sandor groaned and Sansa grinned. “I think someone’s excited.”

Sandor was chagrined, he was losing his mission. She was making him groan more times than he made her. It wasn’t a competition, but wasn’t it, kind of? Sandor started kissing down her neck again, before lifting his head again. He locked eyes with her, and began to slide the tank top down. Sansa gave a small nod and Sandor slid the green fabric farther down. He took in the sight of her small breasts, dark pink nipples pebbled and inviting.

Sansa suddenly leaned away from him, her shoulders hunching in, her arms crossing in front of her chest. Sandor looked up into her face to see her smile had faded, eyes looking down at his chest, avoiding his face. Crestfallen, he let go of her waist.

“What is it? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I just- I know I’m a little disappointing.”

Sandor’s jaw dropped. “How the fuck could you ever be a disappointment?”

“My boobs are tiny, it’s embarrassing.”

The pit of Sandor’s stomach dropped, realizing such a perfect being could feel insecure. “They’re beautiful. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You’re going to sit on my lap with your perfect tits and look at my fucked-up face and apologize?”

Sansa burst out laughing. “You really like them?” she asked, finally meeting his eyes. “You’re not just being polite.”

Sandor scoffed. “No one’s ever accused me of that before.”

Sansa was quiet a moment, and Sandor realized he was desperate to ease away her anxiety, make her smile again.

“Did I ruin the mood?” she asked after a moment.

He shook his head. A new song began to play, and Sandor smiled. “Will you dance with me?”

Sansa smiled, nodding. Sandor pulled up her top, stringing the straps back up on her shoulders. He pulled her closer, one hand on the small of her back. “Hold onto me,” he whispered and Sansa snaked her arms around his neck.

With his left hand, Sandor pushed off of the couch and up onto his feet, Sansa clinging to him with legs and arms. He set her down, and put both hands round her waist.

“I could have just stood up,” she joked, her hands settling around his shoulders.

He shrugged. “I wanted to impress you. Are you impressed?”

“Maybe a little,” she admitted.

Sandor swayed back and forth, feeling a little foolish, but it did make Sansa smile. He thought he would do just about anything to make her smile.

He leaned forward to tuck her forehead under his chin, and suddenly he was crooning along with Chet Baker, husky and low in her ear. “ _But don’t change a hair for me, not if you care for me. Stay little Valentine, stay.”_

Sansa was blushing, gazing up at him with shining eyes. She reached up on tiptoe, pulling him down to her lips again. After a moment, she leaned back.

“Take me to bed?” she asked, lips parted, eyes dancing.

Sandor sighed. “Like I said, I’m a weak-willed bastard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this chapter wasn't too long. Steamy stuff coming up next week.
> 
> Music reference:  
> "That Old Feeling"  
> "I Get Along Without You Very Well"  
> "My Funny Valentine" all from "Chet Baker Sings" by Chet Baker, 1954. It's beautiful, check it out if you have a minute.
> 
> Haven't been getting any emails because of stupid Yahoo. If you've been leaving comments or kudos, I may not have seen them right away, but I still appreciate all of them! Hopefully I'll start getting them soon, I really miss it!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's about to get smutty, y'all! Warning for language. I feel like most people who have gotten this far in the ASOIAF fandom are comfortable with the word 'cunt' but, just in case you aren't, this is your fair warning.

Sansa danced up the stairs, having turned off the record player and the lights as they made their way through the first level of the house. Sandor offered to carry her again, but Sansa declined. “Not that I don’t trust you, but you’ve had a few drinks.” He did grab her ass as he climbed the steps. Upon reaching her bedroom, as she reached to turn a lamp on, he stood behind her and pulled her against his chest, breathing in her scent and nibbling at her neck.

Sansa’s eyes squeezed shut when Sandor’s large hand wandered down her front, expertly unfastening her shorts with one hand, sliding his hand inside to run his palm over her pussy, over her underwear. Sansa made a sound close to a whimper.

“How the fuck did I get this lucky?” he groaned in her ear. “To have you draped over me, soaking through your knickers, asking me to your bed? Some god will appear any minute and turn me into a goat for my presumption.”

Sansa laughed. “A goat?” She turned, shaking her head as she let her shorts fall to the floor, then pulling her tank top over her head, dropping it next to the shorts. “More like a wolf, I think.”

Sandor’s eyes roamed over her body, the hungry look in his eyes giving her a swell of pleasure. He shook his head, though.

“Wolf? No, that’s too noble for me. I’m a hound, if I’m anything.” And with that he snatched her, pulling her close to him, one hand under her knees, lifting her bride-style and carrying her to the bed.

Sansa giggled.

“What are you giggling about now, little bird?” he grumbled, depositing her on the bed.

“I was thinking that was very romantic, but, again, I could have walked that.”

“I’m being romantic and you’re gonna snipe at me? You know how long it’s been since I did a single romantic thing?”

“Just get over here,” she murmured huskily.

Sandor was quick to oblige her. He knelt on his knees between her legs, quickly pulling his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. Sansa looked up at his formidable chest, hairy and wild, hair growing in thick patches that thinned out over his stomach, one wide strip of dark hair creating a trail down into his pants. Sansa wanted to follow that trail all the way down.

He braced himself above her on one hand. His other hand burrowed under her neck to cup the back of her head as he leaned forward to kiss her deeply. Sansa wrapped her legs around his hips, tucking her feet behind his knees. Her hands came up his back to wrap around his shoulders, one hand twining in his hair.

Sansa had predicted they’d have good sexual chemistry, but the reality far exceeded her expectations. Each kiss fed a fire burning deep inside her, its warmth spreading from her hips to her stomach, which flipped each time he flicked his tongue across hers. She had never been kissed like this, so deep it made her knees shake, her muscles turn to jelly. It was like every cliché she’d ever head came true, all those silly phrases she’d never thought were real. Choirs sang, she saw heaven, etc. Except it was much more primal than all those soft platitudes. She wanted him to throw her over his shoulder, mark her with his scent so all the other males knew she was his, claim her as his mate with a bite. She didn’t want this to end.

Sansa turned her head to catch her breath, and Sandor began to place lush kisses on the underside of her chin, down her neck, across one breast. Propping himself up on one arm, he freed his other hand to cup her other breast, massaging gently as he lapped at her nipple, then gently nipping before lightly sucking. Sansa groaned at the exquisite feeling, half pain and half pleasure. His rough fingers expertly teased her other nipple, rolling the pebbly nub, gently pinching until she was gasping.

“Fucking beautiful,” he growled as he shifted to take the other nipple into his mouth, using tongue and teeth and lips to draw the most primal noises from her throat. When he finally relinquished the sensitive nodes, he went immediately to her hips, pulling the pair of white panties off so roughly she was sure he would tear them, then spreading her legs shoulder-width apart. He gazed down at her for what felt like a long time, until Sansa began to squirm, immediately starting to feel self-conscious again. He put his hand on her waist to stop her.

“Don’t make a carpet and drapes joke, please,” she whispered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Just a pity you have to trim it so much.”

“You like a bush?” she asked, surprised.

He nodded. “Especially yours. Redheads are supposed to be lucky, you know”

He reached out and stroked two fingers down the small patch of hair that started just over her pubic bone and grew down her labia. The bikini line she waxed a few times a month, a necessity when you wore nothing more than semi-sheer tights and skimpy leotards. Unlike most girls, though, she didn’t elect to get the full Brazilian, partly due to the pain. Why submit to more than strictly necessary? Plus, she hated the idea of reverting back to prepubescence, and the idea of men who liked that hairless look.

His fingers brushed over her labia, then slid through them, fingers separating to slide just around her clit, then down to her throbbing entrance. His middle finger dipped inside her to one knuckle.

“Fuck,” he groaned, pushing both fingers in slowly until he could go no further. “So fucking wet,” he murmured.

Sansa moaned, a shaky, needy sound. Sandor’s eyes flicked over her, dark and passionate. “Don’t worry, _eun beag_. I’ll take care of you.”

Something warm washed over her at that. She would be taken care of, he wanted to protect her. She was a good girl.

Then he knelt between her legs, propped up on his elbows. He hooked her legs over his shoulders, eyes feasting on her dripping center. Sansa was aware, distantly, a subliminal thought that quickly flitted away, that she ought to have felt embarrassed at such close examination, but the subdued look of awe on his face drove away any feeling of inadequacy. He was like a starving man eyeing a meal, and Sansa thought she would let him do whatever he wanted, so long as he kept that worshipful look on his face.

Then he bent his head to his meal, and Sansa tilted back her head, thoroughly exposing her neck as she let out a deep sigh. He sucked over her entrance first, tongue dipping inside her to taste her, groaning in the back of his throat. He lapped at her several times. When Sansa peeked down at him, his eyes were closed, and he had the expression of tasting something more delicious than any mortal food. Sansa squirmed slightly, and his eyes opened at the movement. His eyes shot through her, so hungry and feral. He smirked at her expression, and raised his tongue to lathe at her clit instead.

She liked the way he experimented with different speeds and techniques, languorously licking and sucking and teasing her until she was a groaning, writhing mess. He was in no rush and seemed to be enjoying himself almost as much as her. It was new to her, a man who treated oral sex as more than just a prelude to his own pleasure, who committed to the act with single-minded industry.

Sansa moaned, her fingers winding through Sandor’s hair, gripping him a little tighter than she had intended. “Sandor, please.”

“Tell me,” he murmured against her clit, the vibration a new thrilling sensation.

“I want to come,” she panted. “Please, I need-”

Sandor’s tongue went to work on her clit in earnest now, tongue flicking the sensitive nerves over and over, until Sansa at last cried out, all of her muscles tensing. Sandor stopped, but did not remove his tongue from her, instead, lightly licked her with the flat of his rough tongue, long lingering strokes to slowly unspool her. When Sansa’s fingers relaxed on his head, he gave her one last kiss and raised himself to come kneel above her, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.

“See, I told you I’d take care of you.”

“You’re not done yet.” Sansa pulled him to her, kissing him deeply, enjoying her taste on his mouth and beard. She reached down and began undoing his belt with unsteady fingers. Sandor broke away, rolling onto his back to unfasten the buckle, unzipping and then sliding off his pants and boxer briefs with one movement. Sansa rolled onto her side, taking her turn to examine him.

She let her fingers take its journey from his chest down across his stomach, her head leaning on her hand, propped up on her elbow. She slowly ran her fingers through his chest hair, marveling at how soft it was, much softer than it looked. He laughed a little when she traced his hip bones and Sansa giggled.

“Ticklish?” she asked.

“Shit, a little. Don’t take advantage, or I’ll hold you down and make you beg.”

Sansa grinned, turning her face up to him again. “Mr. Clegane,” she whispered breathily, “I might take you up on that offer.”

Sansa’s fingers closed on his cock, and it jumped eagerly in her hand.

“Fuck, Sansa,” he groaned, his eyes closing to slits.

She grinned, overcome by a heady feeling of power at pulling such sounds from this big hulk of a man. She could drive him to his knees with just her fingers. She imagined what she could do with her mouth and her tongue.

Later, she thought, pushing up onto her hands and knees. She straddled Sandor’s stomach, so his cock stood behind her ass, then leaned over to the nightstand, opening a drawer to fish out a condom. Sandor took advantage of her position to suck one of her nipples. Sansa took out the condom, checked the expiration date. A few months left.

“Will this do?” she asked him, moving her hips so his cock was in front of her now, eyeing his girth.

“Aye, should be fine,” he said with a smile. “They stretch.”

Sansa opened the foil packet, letting it flutter to the floor as she positioned it over the head of his penis. She slowly slid it down until he was fully encased. Sandor reached down, running his hand up and down to be sure the condom was secure and completely unrolled. When he was done, he put his hands on her thighs.

Sansa took that as her cue to lift her hips over his cock, and reach down to guide him inside of her. She slowly lowered herself onto him, moaning as her pussy stretched around him, wider and wider, deeper and deeper until she thought she would burst. Then she was finally filled, and her ass was flush with his thighs. She sighed, resting her hand on Sandor’s stomach, her head tipped back.

“Oh Sandor,” she moaned, lifting her hips up and then back down again, then again, reveling in the full feeling inside.

Sandor groaned, reaching up to grip her hips, guiding her rhythm. “Fuck, Sansa. Do you mind if I?”

Sansa grinned, nodded dazedly. Sandor sat up, and suddenly his arms were wrapped around her, crushing her to his chest. Sandor sat there for a moment, kissing Sansa hungrily, leaving bruising kisses across her lips and neck. Then he flipped her onto her back, his weight almost knocking the breath out of her.

“Sorry, you all right?” he asked, caressing her cheek.

Sansa grinned against his mouth. “All right? I’m either dying or I’m going to live forever. I’ll tell you which later.”

Sandor smiled, kissing her gently. “I know what you mean.” He drew her legs up his waist, adjusting his position above her.

“That ok?”

“Wonderful,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He pumped into her once, slowly, and Sansa felt her walls contract around him.

“Fuck, Sansa,” he groaned again, momentarily shutting his eyes. “Your fucking cunt.”

A shiver went through Sansa at his foul language, the way he said it like a prayer. “You like it?” she teased.

His eyes shot open and his eyes burned into hers. “If you’d lived in Ancient Greece, kings and gods would have started wars for you.”

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat, and she momentarily forgot to breathe. “And you? Would you have started a war for me?”

He thrust into her again, harder this time. “I’d set the world on fire for you, _eun beag_.”

He kissed her hard, setting a faster rhythm now, and Sansa was sure she was melting away, her bones turning to ash, her muscles dissolving. All that was left of her were nerve endings, so sensitive and raw. And he was stroking them, pounding away at them, harder and harder, rougher and rougher as some animalistic instinct took over. Sansa didn’t mind though, it was an ache so pleasurable, so satisfying, to be used by him, consumed in his flame.

“Come for me, _eun beag_ ,” he murmured in her ear, and Sansa cried out, the pressure mounting in the nerves that used to be her pelvis. She bucked against him, needing more contact, craving his touch, but words had fled her; she didn’t seem to be able to ask for what she needed. Sandor knew, though; he reached down and found her clit, massaged it until she fell apart beneath him. Someone was crying out, breathy moans that were almost screams, high and piercing. It was only when Sansa shut her open mouth that she realized it was her making that noise. She smirked at the knowledge. What had he done to her?

Fucked her, of course, she thought. As requested.

“Sandor,” she moaned, scratching her nails down his back, suddenly back in her body again, with bones and muscles that mostly obeyed her commands. “Don’t stop.”

He grunted, thrusting into her again, over and over, until he gave a loud groan, falling flush against her, his muscles suddenly lax. He panted into her hair, thrusting softly a few times before falling still.

After a moment, he pulled out, shifting so he lay beside her instead of on top. Sansa gasped a few times, getting her wind back. He ran a soft hand down her stomach, hovering lightly over her pussy, just touching the soft hair there, now slightly damp.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked, and his voice was so different now, soft and tender.

She shook her head, stretching her muscles, letting her stiff joints relax. Sansa rolled onto her side to face him, just looking at him for a while. They let their hands and eyes range over each other, questing gently, learning each other’s geography. Sansa couldn’t get enough of his powerful hairy chest, strong forearms and biceps, the soft patch of skin just above his hips, where no hair grew.

Suddenly, Sansa had more joy in her than could be humanly contained. She rolled slightly closer to him, so her thighs touched his, and her shoulder touched his chest, buried her face in her pillow and made a sound that was a cross between a squeak and a yelp.

Sandor ran his hand up her back, laughing at her infectious joy. When Sansa peeked up at him, half her face still hidden, he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

“You hiding from me?” he asked, and even his customary grumble seemed so much softer post-coital.

She shook her head, finally emerging so he could see all of her face. “Not hiding,” she smiled, then kissed him.

“Let me clean up first,” he said, gesturing to the spent condom. “Bathroom?”

She pointed to the door across from the one they had entered. He kissed her quickly, and stood. Sansa took this opportunity to watch his ass as he walked away, which was just as round and firm as she’d suspected from his slacks. Then Sansa pulled on a robe and ran downstairs to get her phone from her purse. She made sure the door was locked, then set the security alarm. She hesitated, wondering if he would want to go home.

She ran back up the stairs and headed to the other door. Sandor was standing at the sink, washing his hands.

The _en suite_ was one of Sansa’s favorite parts of the house. The concrete floor was equipped with a heater, so the floor could be warm even on the coldest winter morning. A huge tub stood in the corner, big enough to fit three people. Sansa hoped that someday Sandor would join her, she’d always dreamed of having a man in there with her. There was also a shower, and a toilet in a separate little room. The beautiful double vanity had a marble countertop and a huge mirror. Sandor looked up at her reflection in the mirror, then turned to her as he dried his hands.

“Thought you were running away for a minute.”

She smiled. “Just went to get my phone and set the alarm. Unless you…wanted to leave,” she offered tentatively.

Sandor turned, completely naked, and Sansa couldn’t help letting her eyes rake down his body. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked, his mouth turned up in a half-smile, but his eyes were serious.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then I won’t.” He stepped near her, right up against her, and bent down to kiss her. “Do you have a toothbrush I could use?”

She opened a drawer and handed him a new one, then wet hers and started brushing, sneaking glances at Sandor as he opened his brush and squeezed a pat of toothbrush onto the bristles. They brushed for a few minutes, then used the separate sinks to rinse their mouths and toothbrushes. Sansa thought she could get used to that, to not being alone.

“I’ll meet you in there, I’m just going to…” she trailed off as she gestured to the toilet.

After relieving herself, Sansa washed her hands and face, put on her night cream, and took her brush with her into the bedroom, gently working on the tangles. Sandor had turned down the covers and lay on the near side of the bed.

He looked up, smiled. “Sorry about your hair. Hope I didn’t make a mess of it.”

Sansa grinned, turning off the lamp by the door and turning on the one on the nightstand. “I think I’ll recover.” She plugged in her phone to charge, plugged in the aux cord and started playing soft piano.

“Hope you don’t mind. I like to listen to music while I fall asleep. It’ll turn off in an hour or so.”

“It’s no bother. Do you have a charger I can borrow?”

Sansa opened the second drawer of her nightstand, rifled around for a moment before pulling out a cord. “Here, plug that into the base of the lamp. They have USB charging ports.”

“Fancy,” he grunted. He turned back in time to see Sansa remove her robe, dropping it onto a chair in the corner, then slip into bed. He wolf-whistled, which made her grin. She scooted close to him, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him, soft, gentle kisses this time.

“I think my lips are bruised,” she murmured against his mouth, although she didn’t stop kissing him.

“Sorry,” he winced. “I might have been too rough with you.”

“It’s ok. I get to say I told you so.”

“You told me so?” he asked.

“I said I had never been fucked well, but I thought you could do the job. Turns out that was a gross understatement.”

Sandor grinned against her mouth, kissing her again. Sansa sat up and leaned over to turn off the lamp, returning to Sandor’s arms afterward. Everything felt so warm and comfortable and safe. Sansa felt herself drifting off, but something nagged at her before she did.

“Wait, you kept calling me ian… ian beg…?”

“ _Eun beag_. It’s Gaelic. Means ‘little bird.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, satisfied Sansa!!! Hope eveyone's staying well, and thanks for reading! Comments and kudos much appreciated!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end notes for some of my thoughts about current events. I thought about putting it here, but I wanted to make it easier to skip if you are here to escape what's currently going on. I fully support and respect that, if that's what you need to do for you. If you want to, meet me in the end notes for my brief two cents.

Sandor woke up in an unfamiliar bed, and his first thought was that he was definitely not in his apartment because this place was not a shit-hole. The bed was big and comfortable, with soft sheets and firm pillows. The bed frame was an actual, honest-to-god, four-poster bed, though it had no hangings. Soft, gauzey curtains hung at the windows, and a thicker, cream-colored fabric hung behind, to keep the light from pouring in. He could see from the cracks that it was fully light out.

Next, Sandor noticed the warm presence pressed to his back. He rolled over carefully. Sansa stirred but didn’t wake. She lay on her side, a curtain of red hair spilling over her shoulder and back. Sandor gently pushed a lock back from her face, and just watched her sleep for a while. She really was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, with her creamy, pale skin, high cheekbones, and full, pale pink lips.

Last night those lips had been red-stained, swollen from kisses, her cheeks flushed, eyes shut and head thrown back as he’d licked and licked until she’d screamed from pleasure. And then, later, inside of her. If he’d ever really dared to imagine what it would be like to go to bed with her, he’d never have come close. All her curves in just the right spots, those long legs wrapped around his waist so tight, arms around his neck. “I’m either dying or I’m going to live forever.” Possibly the best description of sex, especially with her.

He wondered if he’d dreamed her, in the middle of the night, waking him up with her mouth wrapped around his cock. His cock bobbed eagerly at the memory. She’d crouched next to him, on her knees, so he’d been able to reach over and finger her while her mouth worked up and down his length. After he’d come, and she eagerly lapped up his come, she’d laid next to him. He’d wanted to go down on her again, but she said she wanted his lips on hers, so he thrust and curled his fingers inside her until she orgasmed, her walls constricting around him. He’d licked his fingers clean, and then curled up around her, spooning her until they fell asleep.

After a few minutes, Sansa began to stretch and yawn, though she kept her eyes closed, still half-asleep. She reached out and her fingers touched his chest, curling into his chest hair as she had done several times the night before. He didn’t know why, but she seemed to like his hairiness. He’d always felt like he’d had to apologize to women for his body hair before now, always felt a little bad that he was such a bear, compared to the sleek, hairless bodies they showed in movies and TV. But Sansa seemed to actually like it, and he liked that she liked it.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open, and her lip curved into a sweet smile, sleepy and languid. The smile of a satisfied woman. Sandor couldn’t help but smile back, as he didn’t think he’d ever smiled at anyone before.

Sansa snaked her arm around his neck, pulling closer to him, her right leg hooking over his hips. “Hi.” She leaned in to kiss him gently. Sandor was a little embarrassed at his bodily response: he was already sporting a full hard-on. Sansa didn’t seem to mind, though, bucking her hips against his.

“Hi,” Sandor said, though it came out more like a moan as her warm center slipped along his shaft. “Fuck,” he breathed.

Sansa giggled, something she did a lot, the sort of laugh that used to annoy Sandor when it came from the little birds at the company, as the giggles were frequently at his expense, but now it sounded like the sweetest sound. She reached down to his cock, circling her fingers around him.

“I was worried I might have over-taxed you last night,” she teased.

Sandor pushed her onto her back, settling himself between her knees, her legs already wrapping around his hips. He kissed her deeply, tongue lapping against hers, one hand in her hair. “You’ve turned me into an 18-year-old again, at least my cock. How did you do that?”

Sansa moaned against his mouth, hand fumbling with the nightstand drawer at her right. Sandor leaned over to help get a condom, then just held it for a moment, as he continued kissing her, reluctant to leave those strawberry lips. When he leaned back to put on the condom, Sansa grinned up at him.

“I’ve fucked an 18-year old. He didn’t make me come like you do.”

Sandor finally got the condom on, fully unrolled over his length, was about to push into her warm cunt, when there was a snapping sound like tugging a balloon just a little too hard. The shaft of the condom broke, rolling back to the ring, which had stayed intact around the base of his cock. Sansa and Sandor both stared at the ragged strips, the red, engorged head of his dick, then Sansa started to laugh.

“I can’t believe you actually broke it. I mean, I think it’s probably because they’re a little old, but maybe your cock was just too hard.”

Sandor couldn’t help but laugh, too, as he removed the shredded condom and laid the tatters on the nightstand. “I’ll buy you some new ones,” he chuckled, rolling onto his side and pulling Sansa with him, facing him once again, rubbing against him. They used their lips and hands and tongues and fingers until they were well satisfied, although Sandor didn’t know if he’d ever have his fill of her soft lips, brilliant flashing eyes, and eager tongue and fingers. She came so quickly for him, especially when he murmured low in her ear, said all the dirty things he’d been thinking since that afternoon in the alley when she’d come onto him.

After they were momentarily sated, Sandor held her close to him. “I was such a daft fucker for not taking you out that night,” he murmured into her hair.

“Hmm?” Sansa hummed inquisitively, still coming down from her orgasm, and not following his train of thought.

“When you asked me to take you out to celebrate, after you got the lead. I almost did, I don’t know why I didn’t. I’m glad you made me take you out last night.”

Sansa grinned, stretching. Sandor should have known better to try to have intelligible conversation after the smashing orgasms they’d just had. Something bugged him in the back of his mind, though.

“Shit, what time is it?” He leaned over to check his phone. Almost 9 AM.

“I’m late. Wait, no I’m not.”

Sansa was nibbling his neck, not really following what he was saying. “You have plans? I thought we could just stay in bed all day,” she moaned, a little whine in her voice.

He grunted as she latched onto his neck, biting and sucking in a way Sandor both adored, but was sure would leave a hickey if she kept it up. He kissed her to give her mouth something else to do, then began to nibble on her neck.

“Wish I could, _eun beag_. I have to go to my second job. I give lessons for a few hours on Saturdays.”

“What time?”

“Ten. That’s why I thought I was late. But since the studio’s only a few blocks away, I can stay a bit yet. I’ll need a shower, though. I don’t think the parents would appreciate if I rolled up smelling like your pretty cunt.”

Sansa giggled. “I’m tempted to make you leave here smelling like me. Mark you as mine.”

She kissed him then, deeply and passionately, though in the middle of the kiss, her deep blue eyes flashed up at his, as though she’d just realized what she said, and how it might sound. She pulled back slightly, wincing slightly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound that possessive. I’m not a weird clingy girl, I swear.”

Sandor raised a hand to brush down her shining auburn hair, his eyes roaming over her face. “I knew what you meant. I’m not saying we should pick out new china, but I want to see where this goes, if you do.” He hesitated, wondering how much of his feelings to show at once. He didn’t want to get hurt, but Sansa had already put so much of herself out there to him, asking him out twice, giving him her number. Surely, she deserved some part of him back.

“I could see myself being happy with you.”

Sansa made a low sound in her throat, an indistinct mumble of happiness and content. Suddenly leaping, she pushed him onto his back, straddling his hips and capturing his lips, writhing against his hips, inadvertently smearing his belly with the slick by-product of Sandor’s morning work. Sandor’s cock made a feeble attempt to rise, but wasn’t able to make an appearance. His cock might be a teenager again around her, but even then it had its limits.

Sandor kissed Sansa until she released him, settling with her chin against his sternum, examining him closely, a wild glint in her eyes. “We’ll see where it goes then,” she said serenely, then raised one eyebrow wickedly. “Shower?”

Sandor grinned and nodded. “I want to see what kind of fancy-ass shower you’ve got.”

Sansa leapt up and led the way, grabbing extra towels from a cabinet beside one of the sinks. Inside the shower, Sandor couldn’t help but be impressed. It was spacious enough for both of them to move around without running into each other or the walls too much. Water streamed down from a large fountain head, strong water pressure, water not too hard and chalky like at his place. Bottles lined the walls, a fair collection of shampoos, conditioners, soaps, and a few things Sandor couldn’t name. Sandor was not quite in the mood yet for bathing, though, and Sansa apparently agreed.

He wet his hair and chest, and Sansa did the same. Sandor’s eyes hungrily feasted on her body when she tipped her head back, her hair turning dark red as the water soaked it. He put his hands on her waist, pulling her against him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, but even on her tiptoes, he had to stoop to reach her lips. After a few moments, he pulled back.

“I can think of a better use for my time,” he murmured, then dropped to his knees in front of her. The water fell on his back as he bent his head to her cunt, appreciating both her gasp of surprise, which quickly turned to pleasure, and the sight of her sweet little sex, so warm and wet. He slipped two fingers inside her, and quickly set his tongue to work, dancing across her clit. He decided he liked this vantage point very much. Sansa’s legs were long enough that he didn’t have to stoop as much when he knelt with his thighs directly seated on the backs of his calves, like some kind of perverted yoga pose. He could, by leaning forward and throwing his head back, look up at her as he worked her over with his tongue and his fingers, and appreciate the dark passion in her eyes and in her face.

“Fuck, Sandor. I’m close.”

He groaned against her cunt, curling his fingers as hard as he could, tongue flicking furiously against her clit. She cried out, the acoustics of the shower amplifying the sound, and throbbed around his fingers with each delicious pulse of her orgasm. When the spasms of her walls and pelvis slowed, Sandor pulled his fingers from her with a slick popping sound, and came up to standing shakily, his legs close to falling asleep.

Sansa clutched his shoulders, just as unsteady as him. Laughing, they clung to one another until they got their balance back. Sansa devoured his mouth again, and Sandor chuckled against her mouth.

“Much as I wish I could stay here all day…”

Sansa scoffed. “Fine! I’ll get you clean.”

She turned and selected a body wash that had a clean sea scent, salty and just a little musky. She lathered a bit in her hands, then ran her hands up his chest, around his back, around again to his stomach, all the while her saucy little mouth stole kisses from him whenever she could. Not to be outdone, Sandor poured some of the soap into his hands, and began to luxuriously run his hands over her shoulders and back, over and under and around her breasts, down her stomach, between her legs, around her labia, but not inside, knowing most women were sensitive to soaps and things like that.

Luckily, Sandor didn’t have any such personal feelings. He let Sansa run her soapy hands over his cock and balls, his hands massaging her breasts as she explored his nether regions.

“You get me any cleaner down there, you’re gonna have to dirty me up again,” he growled in her ear.

“Mmm. Sounds good to me. Those little brats can learn piano next week. Besides, you’re doing a pretty thorough job, yourself. My tits have never been so clean.”

She pulled her hands away, though, and rinsed them off. Then began shampooing and conditioning her hair. Sandor amused Sansa by lathering up some shampoo and soaping down his hair and his beard, then applying conditioner to his beard only.

“It’s not beard oil, but sauce for the goose, and all that,” he told her, making her squeal by kissing her and accidentally smearing her chin and neck with conditioner. Then Sansa washed her face, turning off the water after. They stepped onto the concrete floor, which Sandor found surprisingly warm on his feet.

“Heated floors,” she said with a grin, handing him a fluffy towel. “The one part of the house that’s been updated.”

“Thank goodness. Must be nice in the winter.” He eyed the huge tub with a whistle. “You’ve got all the bells and whistles, hmm?”

Once he was reasonably dry, he followed her to the bedroom, looking up at the vaulted ceiling, then back down at the king-sized bed. “Was this your parents’ room?”

“Just my mother’s, we didn’t move here til two years after my father died, after my grandfather died.”

“Your dad’s dad?”

“No, my mum’s.”

Sandor winced. “That’s rough. Your poor mum.”

Sansa glanced at the time as she dressed, throwing yesterday’s shorts and tank into a tall brown wicker hamper. She pulled on underwear, a pair of jeans, and a T-shirt with a pair of ballet shoes on it, with the legend “Ballerinas do it at the barre.”

Sandor smirked at her shirt as he quickly dressed, checking his pockets to make sure he still had his keys and his wallet, unplugging his phone from the charger. Almost 9:30.

“You have time for breakfast?” Sansa asked, as he tied his shoes.

“Nah. It’s all right, I already ate.” He laughed at the satisfied expression on his face.

Sansa walked him downstairs, pulling him to her for one more kiss. Sansa stood on the first step, Sandor on the floor just in front of her, so they were more or less even in height. Sandor settled his hands on her ass, cupping her cheeks through the jeans as his tongue quickly toured her mouth for a moment.

“What are you doing tonight?” he asked, in between lazy pecks.

“My brothers and sister are coming to dinner.”

“Mmm. Probably shouldn’t scare them yet.”

“Probably not yet. Tomorrow?”

“It’s Sunday.”

“You don’t fuck on Sundays?”

The mouth on that girl. Once again, his cock made an attempt to raise his sleepy head, the attempt a little stronger this time. “No, I fuck on Sundays. But I’ve got work the next morning, guess we both do.”

Sansa shrugged. “You can bring some clothes and leave from here, if you want. Shorter commute.”

That was for damned sure, and he liked her place a whole hell of a lot better than his roach motel.

“Well, if you don’t mind,” he murmured, placing small, tender kisses down her neck.

“You’ll have to do me a favor to repay me,” she moaned, arching her neck into him, hand messing up his recently combed hair.

“What’s that?”

“Do that thing with your mouth again.”

Sandor leaned away from her neck to look down at her, just a few inches away instead of half a foot. He twisted his face into a skeptical look, wincing slightly like he had to think hard on this one. Then he smiled. “I swear on my life, I will do that thing with my mouth any time, upon request. You just have to ask, little bird.”

One more kiss, and then he had to leave. Sansa stood at the door watching him walk down the little walkway to the gate. When he was about halfway down, she shouted to him, loud enough to make a few pedestrians turn and stare, “Don’t forget the condoms.”

Sandor shook his head. “Very cute,” he couldn’t help but laugh. He set off on his way uptown, hands shoved in his pocket, a big dumb smile still on his face. He made a quick stop at a café to get a cup of tea and a bagel, which he ate and sipped at as he walked the ten blocks to a piano studio he rented for lessons. They took almost half of his fees for the rent, but he needed the extra money to pay his bills. Baelish scarcely paid more than his rent.

He didn't really feel any of that, though, worries about money or grudges against the usurious rates the piano shop charged him. It was like all the problems he’s had yesterday were banished to a back part of his mind, their place usurped by a saucy red-head with lips like a cherub who swore like a sailor. He felt happier than he could ever remember having felt. When he got caught at a light, waiting for the traffic to clear, he listened to a street musician play “New York State of Mind” on a battered saxophone, a tourist trap, no doubt, as they were close to some good shopping. Sandor dropped a bill in his case, crumpled up so a stray wind wouldn’t blow it away. The sax guy waved at him as he left. Sandor shook his head at himself. He’d never done that before.

“Oh, the change a woman makes,” he muttered to himself, ignoring an old man who gave him a sideways glance. He shook his head again. What had happened to the New York that just minded its own business?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I want to say that I hope it isn't pretentious of me to write this. It's not like I really think anyone is here for my thoughts on Black Lives Matter (they do, not up for debate at all). I don't want to make myself look good, I don't want to virtue signal, I just want to offer solidarity in this. I feel like being silent puts me on the side of racists, and I do not want that for a single second.
> 
> Second, I hope it isn't insensitive to post this with everything that's going on. I respect that people want to escape from the real world here, so I hope this brings you a moment of joy as you read this, whatever is going on in your life (unless you're a fucking racist, in which case you can fuck right the fuck off and then when you get there, fuck off again). However you feel you have to participate in the discourse and demonstrations going on right now, please know I support it (again, unless you're racist, but I hope none of y'all are). I've been spending a lot of time thinking about how I can support people at this time, and I hope everyone else is too and doing whatever they can, in a way that does not exceed what you have to give.
> 
> On a lighter note, does anyone else remember those t-shirts from the mid aughts, that everyone seemed to think was somehow appropriate to print for clubs in high school, like "Theater kids do it on stage" and "Swim team does it in the pool". Like, how was that appropriate?
> 
> TL;DR: stay safe, stay educated, stay aware. And don't give kids in high school sexually suggestive clothing, like, wtf? Love y'all, thanks for reading! If anyone made it this far, that is.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gets ready for dinner with the Starks.

Sansa hated to admit that she spent her day wishing Sandor would come back. The date had been everything she had wished and more. To be honest, her expectations hadn’t been too high. She’d hoped for some stimulating conversation, a few orgasms, a nice lay. But it had turned into so much more than that. First, the conversation at the bar, the back-and-forth. The banter!

Sansa giggled to herself as she threw a load of laundry in the washer, then threw herself on her bed to wrap herself in the lingering scents from last night and this morning. It had only been three hours since he’d left, but she could still smell his sharp, clean scent, with just a little musk. Then she flipped onto her back, staring up at the ceiling as she ran the events of the last day through her head.

Dinner and drinks had been lovely, the bar or whatever, was exactly her style, laid-back and intimate. The soft piano music, the beautiful singing had made the evening something special, different. She’d never been out somewhere like that before. And sure, Sandor made a few missteps, but she’d been glad they got it out of the way, even if he had been kind of an idiot about it. It was never easy to tell someone half your family was dead, but he had been sensitive to it after. She knew he hadn’t intended to be mean about it.

Then after, walking her home. Sansa kind of liked that he’d been reluctant to go home with her. Twelve years might not be a big deal to her, but she could see that it was be to him. And she liked that Petyr was wrong, he clearly didn’t go trolling for dates. Sandor certainly wasn’t chatting up the teenage dancers, if he thought twenty-four was too young for him.

Then, once he was in her home, he seemed more comfortable. Maybe it wasn’t as fancy as he thought it would be. Of course the house itself was expensive, but he seemed to be able to tell from the inside that she wasn't snooty. He’d loosened up considerably on the couch, when she’d claimed his lap and his hands and lips. Sansa grinned thinking about it, feeling her up on the couch, humping like teenagers. Then she’d felt so self-conscious, another hiccup. But the way he’d handled it, in his brusque, straight forward manner that Sansa liked so much. Sansa couldn’t help it, years in ballet had given her a few body image issues. Objectively, she knew she was attractive, but you didn’t spend your formative years having adults matter-of-factly criticize your physical attributes like you were a mannequin in a shop window without it giving you a few hang-ups.

Then, as if to soften the brisk way he’d reacted to her hang-ups, dancing with her, singing to her. No, singing wasn’t the right word, she thought. Crooning. He crooned. It had gone straight to her heart, that big bear of a man turning into a big softie as soon as she’d felt insecure.

Then into the bedroom, where Sandor had done some of his best work. How did he make her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world? She’d felt perfect in his arms, and he’d been perfect to her, all firm muscles and soft hair and eager mouth.

She groaned to herself. That mouth! He certainly liked to use it, too. She’d never heard of a man who actually enjoyed giving oral sex. He talked like she was the treasure, but that oral proclivity sure made him a rare find.

She’d thought he’d be annoyed when the condom burst, but he’d shrugged it off. She could tell he had been eager to be inside of her again, but he took it in stride, and Sansa herself hadn’t minded getting to taste him again. And his fingers!

Sansa was chagrined to find she was wet again. How? She’d come five times, after all. Sansa felt a buzz in her pocket, scooted her hips forward to pull her phone out of her back pocket.

Sandor: **Hey beautiful.**

Sansa squealed, then was a little embarrassed at the noise she’d made.

**Hi sexy! How’s the lessons?**

**All done for the day, thankfully. Headed home. What are you doing?**

**Oh, just lying in my bed, thinking about you.**

Sansa unzipped her jeans, sliding her hand into her underwear, letting her fingers explore her wet folds.

**Oh? I’ve been thinking about you, too.**

Sansa grinned. **About my cunt, I hope.**

**All of you. But yes, especially your cunt.**

**The one I’m fingering right now?** She pushed her fingers inside of herself. Luckily, she’d always been good at typing one-handed.

**You’re insatiable, aren’t you?**

**Just lately. I masturbated while thinking about you a couple of weeks ago. The morning I found out I got the lead.**

**Fuck, really?**

**Mmm, I had a dream about you. Not dirty or anything, just sweet, and I woke up wet.**

**Fuck, I really was a daft fucker.**

**What would you do if you were here?** Sansa’s fingers were moving quickly now inside of her.

**Bite your pretty pink nipples. Lick your sweet little cunt.**

**Fuck yes. What else.**

**I’d let you sit on my face, ride me like a queen. Make you beg to come, beg for my cock.**

**Fuck! What else.**

**I’d slide my cock into your tight cunt, fuck you slow till you begged me to pound you. Then I’d fuck you till you screamed.**

Sansa dropped the phone. She needed her other hand on her clit. She came with just a few strokes, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, a little cry of pleasure filling the room. She felt her phone vibrate, pulled her hand out of her pants, the one that’d been on her clit. She dried her hand on her shirt so she wouldn’t get her phone dirty.

 **Did that take care of it?** He asked with a saucy winking emoji.

**Fuck yes, I just came. Nicer with you here, though.**

**Mm, I’ll be there tomorrow. Can’t wait to lick you again.**

**Where?**

**EVERYWHERE**

Sansa giggled. **You should wank for me when you get home.**

**Fuck, I’ve never been much for sexting, but I think I’m starting to see the appeal.**

**You pitch a tent on the subway?**

**Thankfully, I got a seat, so let’s just say I have my legs crossed.**

**I should go clean up. Feel free to text me later if you need any inspiration. Happy to help.**

Sandor did text her later, and besides phone sex, they kept up a running conversation through the afternoon, as Sandor took his clothes to the laundry-mat down the block (Sansa almost told him to just bring his clothes the next day and use her machine, but then thought it was maybe too soon for that) and Sansa cleaned her kitchen and started preparations for dinner. She told Sandor she always made the same thing when the kids and Arya came, at least, almost always. The same thing Mum always cooked on Saturdays, a traditional roast.

She went to the grocery store, spent way too much money on good beef and red wine. Then she also bought the staples that would get her through the week: a bag of frozen chicken breasts, two bags of rice, vegetables, and some pasta and sauce to make for dinner tomorrow. She wondered if Sandor would mind sauce from a jar.

**Dinner tomorrow? I was just going to make spaghetti. Would you stone me if I served you sauce from a jar?**

A few aisles later, she got his response. **Of course not! But I’ll make you sauce if you buy some tomatoes, garlic, and an onion. You have seasonings?**

**Salt and pepper?**

**No worries, I’ll buy you some.**

**You’re the best!**

Sansa headed back to produce to buy the needed vegetables, then ended up getting a loaf of French loaf for garlic bread, an extra bottle of wine, and a tub of ice cream, in case he wanted something sweet.

Sansa carried her cloth bags the two blocks home, stopped and picked up a bouquet of flowers at her favorite stall. Once home, she was surprised to see Harry was home, just collecting his mail.

“Hey, haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah, mostly just here for my stuff and my mail.”

“So you’re off again, then? It’s just, Bran and Rickon are coming by for dinner.”

“Yeah, I’ll be out of your hair. I’m actually off permanently.”

“Wait, what?”

He shrugged, not looking at her. “Yeah, I’m moving back to LA. Got a steady gig.”

Sansa’s shoulders slumped, trudging up the stairs to set her bags on the counter. “Harry, you’re supposed to give a month’s notice!”

“Aw c’mon. You won’t have any trouble getting someone to live here, it’s a steal.”

Sansa shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yeah, but I can’t just let any stranger move in, can I? And I don’t know anyone looking for an apartment.”

Harry shrugged. “I mean, I can pay next month if you really need me to, but it’d be a real drag. I’m already strapped for cash after travelling back and forth.”

“Well, I’ll try to find someone, but you’re on the hook for that rent until I can replace you.” Sansa shook her head as she put the chicken and ice cream in the fridge. “I don’t know why you didn’t tell me this last month.”

Harry shrugged. “I wasn’t sure yet.”

Sansa slammed the freezer door. “Yeah, you wanted to hedge your bets. Shocking,” she snapped, her voice bitter and sharp.

Harry shrugged again, a gesture that had already made Sansa want to smack him over the head. “I’ll get out of your hair, then.”

And then he was gone, probably to go sleep at his girlfriend’s apartment. Sansa regretted having ever met him, especially getting involved with him after he moved in. Luckily that had been short-lived, after realizing Harry treated fucking like auditions, stick your head in a few times to test the waters, then fuck off to the next one quick as possible. Good riddance.

Sansa knew she could find someone else in a snap of her fingers, but finding someone she trusted not to steal her stuff, or murder her or something? Besides, she’s actually not minded Harry at all as a roommate, mostly because he was never there. But having someone hanging around all the time? And it wasn’t a full apartment, so they always ended up using her kitchen, and usually her laundry machine too. Having to deal with someone’s dirty dishes in the sink, and wet clothes in the washer long after it had stopped running? If it was just Sansa, she definitely wouldn’t even bother replacing Harry, but the money paid Bran and Rickon’s tuition, and it was one of the few contingencies of her getting to stay there: keep the basement apartment rented out, and keep the place in more or less good condition.

Sansa shelved her disappointment and began preparing the roast. It was the one thing she knew how to cook by heart, mostly because it wasn’t that hard. Mum had always told her, buy good quality beef and good wine, brown the meat, sauté the onions until they were soft, use the good Dutch oven so it didn’t burn, and don’t add the potatoes and carrots too early, or they’d just turn to mush.

Sansa gingerly slid the heavy pot into the oven, the hardest part, to her mind. It was so heavy and she was always scared of burning herself. Luckily, she suffered no mishaps, like the one time she had burned her forearm on the side of the oven, and dropped the pot on the floor, her good beef and vegetables rolling all over the floor. Sansa had been so tired by the time she finished cleaning it all up, that she had relented and ordered pizza, much to Aunt Lysa’s chagrin.

She set the timer for two hours, poured herself a glass of wine, and put a record on the player before collapsing onto the couch to text Sandor. **Hey handsome** she texted, hoping he wouldn’t think she was being silly. He replied back a moment later, to Sansa’s dismay: **You poking fun at me?**

Sansa took a moment to text back, aghast that he would think she was making fun of him. **No of course not! I think you’re handsome.**

He didn’t reply back right away, and Sansa thought for a moment she had scared him off. Then her phone vibrated on her stomach. **Sorry, I didn’t mean to be gruff. Don’t think anyone’s called me handsome before.**

Sansa smiled at her phone. **Well, glad I could be your first** she sent with a winking emoji.

**I think there’s going to be more firsts than I thought. What are you up to?**

She sipped her wine before texting back: **Just put dinner in the oven. A roast, the only thing I know how to make, lol. My mum’s recipe.**

**You’ll have to make that for me sometime. I haven’t had a good roast in years.**

Sansa was about to type out her reply, when she received another text right after the first. **If that’s not too presumptuous of me.**

Sansa was tempted to tease him, but decided to just go for the straight answer again. It was too hard to convey the difference between good-natured teasing and just plain being mean over text. **I’d love to make it for you, maybe next weekend.**

“Goodness me, one date in and we’re already making plans,” she said aloud to herself. She didn’t mind it, though, it felt nice to have plans for once, besides just running through blocking and laundry and grocery shopping and working out. Speaking of which, she felt a little guilty for not working out that day, but then again, sex did burn calories, right?

**Maybe I can teach you how to cook, too.**

She raised one eyebrow. **You cook? What kinds of things?**

**All kinds. I was the only one to help my mum, so I learned early.**

**You ever wanted to go back and see your family?** Sansa typed out the text, but didn’t press send. It was too early to be asking questions like that, especially over text. She deleted the message, then typed and sent **That’s sweet! What’s your favorite thing to cook?**

She flipped through Facebook for a few minutes, then Instagram. When Sandor didn’t text her back for a few minutes, she tried not to be disappointed. Maybe something had come up. She rolled onto her side, laid her phone down, and decided to shut her eyes for a minute while she waited for Sandor to text her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter, featuring phone sex, shopping, and a little bit about Sansa's roommate and why he's perpetually absent (one of the best traits of a roommate, in my opinion.) Hope you enjoyed! I'll try to update in a few days with the big family dinner. Hope you had a good weekend!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner with the Starks!

Sansa woke up to the alarm on the kitchen timer going off. She had shut her eyes for a minute and woke up two hours later. Sansa ran to the kitchen to shut off the timer. Luckily, she had chopped the vegetables before she fell asleep, so all she had to do was open the oven door, slide the rack out, lift the lid, and slide the vegetables from the cutting board into the pot. She set the timer for twenty minutes, then remembered her phone. She checked it while she ran upstairs to change, and found four texts from Sandor.

One hour and fifty minutes ago: **I don’t know, fish and chips is my favorite dinner, I like to bake pies, too. Pork pies are the best. Not much of a sweet tooth, but I like a good lemon tart every once in a while.** One hour and forty-five minutes ago: **Did I lose you? Sorry it took me a while to text back. My neighbor got locked out and I had to buzz her in. She’s like 90 so she kept me talking.** One hour and forty minutes ago: **Well, I won’t bug you. Talk to you later.** Three minutes ago: **Don’t burn your roast!**

Sansa texted while she picked out a clean top to wear. **I’m so sorry! I fell asleep on the couch like an old lady, lol! Luckily, I did not burn my roast!** She decided on a cute green sweater that complimented her hair, then ran downstairs to put the wine glass and bottle away, she didn’t like to drink in front of the kids. The chime on the front door chirped just as she got a text: **No worries, guess I wore you out ;) have fun with your family!**

Sansa put her phone back in her pocket as she pulled dinner out of the over. “That you, Arya?”

“Nope, it’s your boyfriend.”

Sansa almost started at that, but then realized Arya was just needling her, and just happened to hit close to the mark. Arya noticed Sansa’s startled expression as she came into the kitchen.

“What’s wrong? Burn yourself again?” she asked, opening the liquor cabinet and pulling down the bottle of spiced rum.

“That was one time. No, put that back! No drinking while the kids are here, juvenile delinquent! We’ll get drunk after.”

Arya raised one eyebrow as she put the bottle back. “Promise? Need any help?” Despite her offer, Arya dropped her backpack on the couch, then went into the dining room to start playing the piano, something harsh and dissonant to Sansa’s ear. She couldn’t tell if it was supposed to sound like that or if Arya wasn’t playing it right.

“Could you set up the table?” Sansa called, ladling the meat, vegetables, and thick sauce into a serving dish.

“Wow, you usually have all this ready. Did you just get home, or something?” The piano cut off, and Sansa heard the table drag across the floor. She dropped the utensils and ran to the dining room.

“Lift it, Arya! You’ll scratch the floor!” Together, they unfolded the table Sansa had gotten from Ikea specifically because it could be folded up and set aside when not in use. The beautiful heirloom mahogany table that had been her grandparents was in the attic, too nice for messy kids and board games that might scratch the wood. Sansa spread a soft rusty red linen tablecloth that she had grabbed from a drawer on the side table, and Arya began laying out fancy cloth napkins in a coordinating green shade. Sansa went back to the kitchen and returned with handfuls of silverware, while Arya made trips back and forth with glasses. The doorbell rang, and both sisters went out to the door to greet their brothers and aunt.

Sansa marveled at how big the boys were getting. Bran, at 14, had started shooting up like bamboo the year before. He was almost as tall as Sansa, now. And Rickon, at 12, was just beginning to lose that baby look, at that age where you could really start to see what he would look like as an adult. Sansa pulled them both into a hug, kissing their unruly brown curls while they protested. With their brown hair, pale blue eyes, and sudden growth spurts, Sansa couldn’t help but be reminded of their father, and had to blink back tears. Aunt Lysa, her mother’s sister, had Sansa’s same red hair, though in a darker shade, but that was where the similarity ended, as Lysa was short and stout. She pulled Sansa to her in a hug, and Sansa was tempted to break down and cry right there, she was so reminded of her mother then.

“Hope everyone’s hungry!” Sansa cried out gleefully, taking Lysa’s jacket and hanging it in on a free hook by the door. “I think this roast is the best one yet!”

Even that was tradition, her mother had declared that every week when she served the roast, unless some random tragedy had befallen the cooking that week in which case the roast was declared “a disaster, but I think I just salvaged it.” Sansa loved how her mother had turned everything into an adventure, even the routine preparation of meals was treated as though grand cosmic events hung in the balance.

Bran helped carry the roast into the dining room, and Sansa and Arya brought pitchers of water and lemonade. Bran and Rickon filled glasses while Sansa carved the roast and Arya piled the plates high with the slices of thickly carved, perfectly pink meat, soft carrots and potatoes, and thick brown sauce. Sansa tried not to wax too nostalgic as they sat around the table, sharing their recent trials and triumphs, eating what could have been her mother’s pot roast. Bran had recently placed first at the school science fair for his project on circuitry that Sansa didn’t even being to understand, Rickon had helped his soccer team to their first win of the season by scoring two goals, and Arya had been promoted to the top of the fencing club, and would face the toughest player on the other team next Saturday.

“Will you be able to come?” Arya asked nonchalantly around the table, voice casual, though Sansa knew she loved when they came to her meets.

“I will be there,” Sansa pledged. Bran also said he would come, but Rickon, unfortunately, had a game that afternoon.

“What time is it?” Lysa asked. “Maybe we could for a bit and leave early?”

Since Arya’s meet was at 10 AM and Rickon’s game didn’t start until 1 PM, and they were only a few miles away, Lysa decided they would be able to go, at least for a while.

“And we can all go to your game, after,” Sansa said.

Rickon ducked his head. “You don’t have to do that; I know you guys are busy.”

Sansa laughed. “Hardly! I’m not in college, so I literally don’t have anything to do that day.” Although a little voice in the back of her head said that wasn’t quite true anymore.

“And what about you, Miss Prima Ballerina?” her aunt laughed. “Arya told us your happy news! When can we come see you?”

Sansa froze, then couldn’t help bursting into a big smile. “Really? You’d want to come see me?”

“Of course, it’s your first time dancing lead,” Arya said. “We’re not gonna miss it.”

“Well, I know you’ve never liked ballet,” Sansa replied. Arya used to boycott her recitals when they were both kids, but that had been during their sticky teenage years.

“Oh, I like it fine. It’s actually quite pretty. I saw this video of Dracula, though, you guys should do that!”

“Dracula the ballet?” Rickon laughed at the idea.

“It was pretty cool! Needs more blood, though!” Arya protested.

Lysa laughed. “You think everything needs more blood.”

Arya gave a dramatic play-acting sigh. “Yes, it does.”

Once everyone was done with dinner, they all cleared the table and laid out a board game. Sansa hated Settlers of Catan, but she loved having everyone there, so she suffered through it. After Arya’s second win, Lysa declared she was done, and it was late anyway. It was only 10 PM, but they had an hour drive back to Middletown.

Sansa saw them to the door, and watched them pile into the car. She got a knot of anxiety in her throat, and Lysa came back to pull Sansa into a reassuring hug. “Shh. Don’t worry. We’ll be all right.”

Sansa squeezed her aunt back tightly, probably too tightly. “Text me as soon as you get home, ok?”

Lysa patted her cheek after Sansa finally let her go, then ruffled Arya’s hair, much to the younger girl’s protest. “Don’t stay up too late, chickadees!”

Then they were gone, and Sansa couldn’t wait until the next family dinner. She and Arya went back inside.

“You staying tonight?” Sansa asked her sister.

“Yeah, probably kip on the couch if that’s cool.”

“Of course.” Sansa locked the door and set the alarm. “Now we can drink and you can tell me about all your boys.”

Arya scoffed as she dug a can of Coke out of the fridge, and grabbed a few ice cubes from the freezer, which she divided between two glasses. “Maybe you’re the one who needs to tell me about a boy,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders as she poured an eyeballed shot of rum into her glass.

Sansa froze with her hand on the cap of the vodka bottle. “What? How did you know?”

Arya smirked as she topped her glass off with Coke. “I didn’t. I had suspicions, but you just confirmed them.”

Sansa playfully smacked her sister’s shoulder as she poured her shot of vodka, adding a wedge of lemon. “Brat.”

Arya cackled as she led the way to the living room. She plugged her phone into the speaker system via aux cord, and started playing a Haim song. She dropped onto the couch, reached for her drink from the coffee table. “So spill.”

“First, what made you suspect?”

“Well, when you made that comment about not having anything to do on your Saturdays, you got a kind of look on your face like you had a secret.”

“Seriously? That’s what tipped you off?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “Of course not. But I noticed a bottle of Scotch in the liquor cabinet. Since I know you don’t touch the stuff, I assumed you had a guy coming around.”

“Oh, yeah. That does make more sense. It could have just been a friend.”

Arya shook her head. “You don’t have any friends.”

“Harsh but accurate,” she sipped her drink.

Arya stared at her. “So… who is he? How’d you meet him? How’s the sex?”

Sansa blushed and swatted at her sister, who grinned, "Must be good then!”

“He’s the rehearsal pianist at the ballet company.”

“And he asked you out?”

“No, I asked him out. We went out last night.”

“Nice. So, good sex?”

“Oh my god, amazing sex. You wouldn’t believe. I came 5 times.”

“Yowza. He got a brother? Or a sister?”

“I don’t think so. He’s from Scotland, doesn’t get along with his family. Besides, I thought you and Gendry were going hot and heavy?”

Arya shrugged. “I don’t know, sometimes it seems like it’s going pretty well, but then he like freaks out about our age difference.”

“Age difference? I thought you were both juniors?”

“We are, but he took a few gap years ‘cause he couldn’t afford to go to college right away. He’s five years older than me.”

“Sandor’s twelve years older than me.”

“Nice. Does he mind?”

“He said he did at first, but I have a feeling he’s changed his mind.”

“At first?”

“Yeah, I asked him out like three weeks ago, he just said yes this last week.”

“Wow, I’ve never known you to chase after a guy. Is he really hot?”

“He’s pretty built. He’s very tall, like six and a half feet. But he does have a scar on his face. It’s not that bad.”

Arya looked puzzled. “What happened?”

“Dunno, he hasn’t told me yet.”

Sansa stayed up late into the night, listening to music and having a few more drinks each. Lysa texted to let them know they had arrived safely, and before Sansa knew it, it was midnight.

“I’m going to sleep, lovely,” she yawned, picking up hers and Arya’s glasses and setting them in the sink. “I’ll grab you a pillow first.”

Arya nodded, kicking off her shoes and grabbing a toothbrush from her bag and going to brush her teeth in the kitchen sink. Sansa climbed up the stairs to the second floor, grabbed two pillows and a blanket from the linen closet. Arya had a bedroom, of course, on the second floor, but she always said it was easier for her to sleep on the couch, easier to sneak out early without waking Sansa, who usually slept in late on the weekends. Sansa saw Arya was tucked in before turning out the lights and making her way through the dark to the stairs.

Once she was upstairs, she pulled out her phone and checked for a text from Sandor. He’d texter her a few hours ago, to let her know he was going to bed. Sansa pulled off her clothes, pulled on an over-sized T-shirt and fell into bed. She sent a quick text, hoping it wouldn’t wake him up, just a kissy emoji followed by a sleeping emoji, little z’s trailing up from the forehead. Then she plugged her phone in and fell straight to sleep, not bothering with the piano music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Sansa would probably be the only one with an English accent left, as the others would have lost it already. (Technically, Sansa probably would have lost it a bit too. I always image her cursing to be more New York than British).
> 
> Also, I imagine Olivia Coleman as Aunt Lysa, especially the Step-Mom role she played in Fleabag, more of that fun mom vibe and less creepy "I still breast-feed my 9 year old" vibes. Speaking of Robbyn, Idk, I just kind of forgot about him. Sorry, Rob! Maybe in this story she never had kids? *shrug*
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Date #2 tomorrow!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor comes over early to spend the day with Sansa. Y'all know the drill. I don't even think I need to write these summaries anymore. Smut time.

Sandor woke up around 9 AM, having had a very sensual and randy dream about Sansa. He couldn’t remember exactly what had happened, it was more of a feeling of legs wrapped around his, arms around his neck, soft skin and lips against him. He’d woken up tangled in the sheets of his bed, sweating, sporting a raging hard-on. It seemed like summer was reluctant to give way to autumn, it was sweltering in Sandor’s apartment, and when he checked the weather, he was chagrined to see it was already 75 degrees outside. Sandor had turned off his air conditioning as soon as he could, because the antique window unit ratcheted his electric bill to appalling, usurious amounts, and he hadn’t turned on the fan last night because he didn’t realize how warm it was forecast to get the next day.

Sandor sat up, switched on the fan, and lay back down, letting the fan cool the sweat from his body, remembering the dream. He checked his phone to see that Sansa had sent him a set of emojis the night before, at almost 1 AM, so she probably wouldn’t be up yet. He considered sending her a text that she would see when she woke up, but he didn’t want to risk waking her. Instead he took a brisk shower with hardly any hot water, serving the dual need to cool himself down and avoid steaming up the apartment. After, he ate a quick breakfast of cereal and milk, then some breakfast sausage and two scrambled eggs when he was still hungry.

By 10 AM, Sansa still hadn’t texted him back, but Sandor went ahead and texted her. **You still asleep?**

He got a text back a few minutes later. **Just woke up. Miss me?**

Sandor knew she was probably just teasing, but he was surprised to find he had. And not just sex, although the thought of her cute little body curled up next to him had him pitching a tent again, but also her sunny smile, her foul mouth, the way she talked with her hands, as if everything was a ballet and she was always dancing. He texted back, before he could think better of it: **Yes. When can I see you?**

He waited a few anxious minutes, but her reply set him at ease. **Come over now! How long does it take you to get here?**

**An hour.**

**Ok, that works, I was going to workout real quick.**

Sandor was already out the door, having already packed an overnight bag of clothes to wear to work the next day. He remembered he had promised to buy condoms, so he stopped at the corner drug store first, before heading to the subway. He didn’t hear much from Sansa on his commute, so he settled for reading a book, though he hardly retained anything he read. As he was getting off the subway, she texted him that she was just leaving the gym. It was only a few blocks from the station to her house. Sandor wondered if he would beat her there.

Sansa was just unlocking her door when he reached her walk. She smiled and waved, then ducked inside the door to turn off the alarm. She came back to the door and let him in, smiling as he ducked his head down to kiss her against the closed door, Sandor digging the drugstore bag out of his overnight bag before dropping the duffel to the floor.

“I’m all sweaty!” she protested, though not strenuously. Sandor growled against her neck, reveling in the way it made her moan. Soon she had jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Sandor thrust the drug store back with the condoms into her hands, then held onto her ass and back as he climbed the stairs, crouching so he wouldn’t hit his head.

Within a few minutes, they had fallen into a heap on her bed, pulling clothes off each other. Sansa laughed at Sandor at he fumbled with her sports bra, which seemed like a torture device, with its numerous thin straps.

“Damnable contraption,” he murmured, but was exultant when he finally got it off and was able to clamp his teeth around her nipple, although he was careful not to be too rough. He was rewarded by a soft gasp from Sansa.

“You sure you don’t want me to take a shower first, I must stink.”

He grunted, then paused from lapping at her nipples to slide his hands under her leggings. “You smell like a woman, _eun beag_. And you taste salty. Perfectly seasoned.” He leaned back and pulled the waistband of her leggings down, pulling her underwear down at the same time. Sansa kicked off her tennis shoes, and Sandor finished peeling off the skin-tight pants.

He dove between her legs, right to her cunt, making Sansa squeal and instinctively shut her legs to protect herself. He grumbled an apology, and approached her again soft and contrite, kissing the inside of her thighs until she relaxed again. He applied his tongue and fingers to the task, and it wasn’t long before Sansa tensed up against him again, this time from pleasure. He rode through the first wave with her, gently lapping at her clit and cunt with his tongue, and would have kept licking until she came again, but Sansa pulled him up.

“Come here, I want to kiss you.”

He obeyed quickly, kissing her and letting her pull his pants off, until she had his cock in her hand, twitching and restless. He groaned against her neck as she found the box of condoms that had been temporarily mislaid among the scattered clothes. She fumbled with the box and plastic wrapping for a moment, before Sandor took it from her, ripped the box open, and handed her back the foil packets. She got one open, and slid the condom down over his cock.

“Something so nice about when you do that,” he rumbled, watching her hands, quick and efficient. As soon as she was done, he had her on her back, settling himself between her legs, kissing her again until she moaned for him. He pushed into her quickly, enjoying the rush this morning. He knew that later they would do it again, but he would take his time then, would memorize every inch of her folds with his tongue, fuck her slow until he was close to losing his mind at the built-up pleasure and pressure. But now he couldn’t get enough of her, wanted her scent in his hair, her wetness on his thighs.

“Fuck, that cunt,” he moaned in her ear, remembering how the talking drove her wild the other night. “So tight.”

“That cock. Didn’t think it would fit, the first time,” she gasped as he lifted her leg, changing the angle of his cock inside her.

“You made it fit, didn’t you? Wicked girl.”

“Did you think about me before you fell asleep last night?”

He nodded against her neck. “Had a dirty dream about you this morning, too.”

Sansa moaned, a wet breathy sound that sent a shiver down Sandor’s spine. “Dirty boy! What was it about?”

“Don’t remember, just that you were in my bed, making the place look classy with your beautiful fucking body.” He moaned at the faint shiver of her cunt around his cock. “Come for me, Sansa. Come on my cock, like a good girl.”

Sansa threw her head back, arching her back under him, fingers digging into his shoulders. He loved the look on her face when she came, mouth open in a little _o_ , eyes partly rolled back, eyebrows puckered in the middle _._ She cried out, then, a sweet little yelp of pleasure, and he felt the walls of her cunt quivering around him.

“Fuck, such a good girl, aren’t you?” Sandor murmured, picking up steam again after momentarily slowing his pace while Sansa was in the throes of her orgasm. “Coming as soon as I tell you to.”

Sansa smirked. “It works both ways, though. Come for me, Sandor. Want you to come, want to hear you roar.”

She nipped at the side of his neck as she said it, and the little pinprick of pain seemed to launch him over the edge. He thrust into her hard, grunting loudly as he came. Felt like buckets of come, he distantly hoped the condom would hold up as he collapsed against her.

After a moment, he rolled to his side, noticing to his satisfaction that the condom hadn’t broken, before pulling Sansa to him, running his hands up and down her back, kissing her lips and cheeks and neck.

Sansa giggled, tucking her head into his neck, her arms around his waist. “I’m still smelly,” she murmured against his neck.

“Want to take a shower? I could eat again,” he murmured against her hair.

Sansa turned her head to catch his lips against hers, kissing him languidly for several minutes. Finally, she pulled back and stretched. “Yes, a shower would be nice. Although you promised to let me sit on your face.”

Sandor grinned, leaning forward to kiss her again. “My face is always open. But I thought you were too dirty.”

Sansa pushed him onto his back, then crawled forward until her knees were level with his face, “Maybe I like being a little dirty.” She swung her thigh over Sandor’s shoulder, lowering herself until she was just above Sandor’s mouth. She held onto the head of the bed, smiling uncertainly down at Sandor. “I’ve never done this before. I hope I don’t crush you.”

Sandor eyed her cunt, pink and dripping wet, and winked at Sansa. “There are worse ways to go.”

He placed one hand on each thigh, his thumbs pressing into the hollows on either side of her folds. He pulled her a little closer, then settled a pillow under his neck before kissing and sucking at her wet cunt. Sansa wiggled against him for a moment, almost involuntarily. She laughed softly at the novel sensation.

“You like that?” he asked, words muffled by her hips.

Sansa let her head dip back when his tongue found her clit, a soft whimper escaping her lips. “Yes, fuck!”

He decided, a few minutes later as she was grinding into him, riding out her orgasm, that he like that position very much. Similar to dining out in the shower, but he didn’t have to sit wet on the shower floor, although her shower was very clean so he hadn’t minded. He also didn’t have to throw his head back to see her, until it felt like his neck might crack, or have to deal with sudden floods of water from the shower that made him face the possibility of drowning, nose deep in pussy.

 _Again_ , he thought as Sansa dismounted unsteadily, and fell back to the bed again, _worse ways to go_.

After a few minutes, they made it into the shower. Sansa wouldn’t let Sandor eat her out again, but did let him push her up against the wall, kissing her thoroughly, and fingering her until she fell apart again.

“Do you have some kind of personal competition going on to see how many times you can make me come in one 24-hour period?” she asked, scrubbing herself with a washcloth after he was done.

He laughed as he washed his hair, shrugged one massive shoulder. “Maybe. Any complaints?”

Sansa smiled as she soaped up his chest and arms. “Definitely not from me. We’ll see what my cunt has to say about it later, though.”

Sandor tsked. “Tell her she’s never had it so good. She’s putty in my hands, I’ll bring her around again.”

Sandor reached for her, lifting her off the shower floor, and Sansa shrieked. “No, put me down!” Sandor obeyed her immediately, a big grin on his face.

“Sorry, I get carried away.”

“I almost got carried away!” she laughed, flicking a bit of suds from his beard.

Sansa stepped out of the shower a few minutes later, wrapping her towel around her and securely tucking in the end, then bending over to wrap her hair in another towel. “I’m starving. You want to go get lunch?”

“Sure,” Sandor said, leaning against the counter watching Sansa as she worked some lotion into her hands and arms.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her eyes raking up his lean torso to his face, watching her with a soft expression. She stepped close to him, and grabbed the corner of her towel to soak up the excess moisture in his beard.

“It’s not weird I came over so early, right? I don’t want you to get sick of me.”

“No, of course not. I might start ending all of my workouts like this.”

“It would definitely be motivating!”

"Really, though. I'm glad you're here. If I don't want you here anymore, I'll tell you. And you'll tell me if you don't want to be around anymore, right?"

Sandor nodded, eyes caressing her face. Sansa smiled, reaching up to brush her fingers against his smooth cheek. "So we'll just be honest with each other, and figure out the rest as we go."

She kissed him then, soft and familiar. It surprised Sansa how natural it felt, how quickly her body got used to that simple motion, closing the short distance between them to press her lips to his. She leaned back, smiling with satisfaction. She didn't think he would want to leave, not anytime soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll see how long I can keep up with this posting schedule. I keep becoming distracted by other writing projects, so I only have a few chapters already written. Once I catch up with the backlog of completed chapters, I'll probably start posting a chapter a week, unless I get ahead again.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor go out for lunch and Sandor makes plans. Then more smut.

Sandor picked up his clothes from where they had been strewn around the room, while Sansa grabbed her workout gear and threw them in the big hamper with the lid. As she dressed in a pair of jeans and a blue tank top, Sandor asked her about the two hampers.

“Oh, well, one’s for normal clothes, and the other is for my workout clothes and ballet gear. It has a little febreeze thing in the lid so it doesn’t start to stink. Because whatever you say, I know I stink after I work out.”

Sandor shrugged as he tied his shoe laces. “I’m not gonna get scared off by a little sweat.”

Sansa pulled a fitted sheet from the top shelf of her closet, started pulling pillows and blanket off of the bed. She stripped the old sheet off the bed, dotted here and there with sweat and other bodily fluids, and put it in the hamper with her workout clothes. “Here, help me put this on.”

Sandor followed suit, and soon the bed was made with a new sheet. He started to pull the blankets back on, but Sansa stopped him, just putting the pillows back on. “We’ll let that air out for a few hours.”

Once Sansa had tied on a pair of trainers, they were ready to leave. Sansa slipped a small pink purse over her shoulder, made sure she had her phone and wallet inside, then grabbed her keys. Once the house was locked up, they headed uptown.

“What are you hungry for?” she asked, and got a raised eyebrow back. “That they serve at restaurants,” she amended with a grin.

“Oh, well, in that case. I dunno, what’s around here?”

“Everything! You tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you who around here has it.”

Sandor shrugged. “Wouldn’t say no to a burger.”

Sansa led them to her favorite hole-in-the-wall burger joint. As they walked, they talked about the neighborhood, Sansa’s neighbors, and how long Sansa had been living there.

“We used to live in Soho, we pretty much lived in the same apartment since we came here until a few years after Dad died. It was tiny, everyone had to share rooms. Then, after Grandpa left us the house, we got to stretch out a bit, which was nice. Robb took the basement, Arya and I got our own rooms on the second floors, and Bran and Rick shared the top floor, which is basically just an open attic. They loved it, though.”

“How did your roast turn out?”

“Delicious, if I’m allowed to brag. And family dinner was wonderful. I miss seeing them every day. Rick’s team won their first soccer game last Saturday, and I’m going to their game next weekend, as well as Arya’s match.”

“What’s she play?” Sandor asked, and Sansa loved how interested he sounded.

“She fences. She’s actually going to school on a scholarship.”

Sandor grunted. “Didn’t know they gave scholarships for fencing. With a thin little sword and everything?”

Sansa nodded proudly. “She’s best at the school. There’s even talk she might make the Olympic team in two years.”

“So your family has produced a ballerina, a soccer player, and a fencer. What’s Bran do?”

“Chess and Science Olympiad.”

“What’s that?”

“A team of people who are good at science. They go to competitions, and the members compete in different science-related events. There’s a trivia event, biology events like bird-watching and identifying different types of trees. There are chemistry events, like identifying a substance just based on how it reacts with known chemicals. Bran mostly does physics events like building bridges out of balsa wood and trebuchet.”

If Sandor got bored listening to her talk about how Bran built a bridge that held 600 pounds worth of weight, or how far his new trebuchet could throw bottlecaps, he didn’t show it. They arrived at the restaurant, ordered at the counter, and took their seats.

“Sounds like he’s going to attend a fancy technical school, then?”

Sansa nodded. “Probably. Here’s hoping he gets a full-ride, though! Those schools are expensive, and the trust fund will probably only pay for a few years. If not, we’ll probably end up selling the house.”

Sandor grunted as he dug into his burger. “I hope not, some yuppy will get their hands on that house and gut the whole thing. It’d be a crime.”

Sansa raised one eyebrow. “Weren’t you just complaining night before last about how my kitchen was a time warp?”

Sandor chewed and swallowed before answering, “Not in a bad way! Besides, just seems a shame to have to sell something that’s been in your family so long. One of your grandparents grew up there?”

“My mother’s mother. I didn’t get to know her very well, she died when I was young. Her father, my great-grandfather was born in the house. It was built in the ‘20s, I think. Yeah, it would be sad to have to sell it. But what can I do? I can’t afford to buy out my siblings’ shares of it. My hope is that maybe I can convince them to just rent it out while they’re in college. I’ll have to move, but at least we can keep ownership in the family.” She shrugged. “No use worrying, as mum would say. How’s your burger?”

After lunch, they walked to a spice store that Sansa said she had walked by several times, but never entered. They spent almost half an hour picking out spices to stock Sansa’s kitchen. The spices came in little bags, secured with twist-ties. Sandor said he would get her a set of containers for them, and make her a spice rack. “House that nice deserves a custom spice rack,” he said. He also led her to the planter’s section next door and bought some seeds for dill, oregano, coriander, basil, thyme, lavender, marjoram, cilantro, and promised to help her plant an herb garden.

“You’ve got a bit of yard, seems a shame not to use it. You have like a big planter or anything?”

“Maybe out back. There’s a little handkerchief yard, and there’s some gardening things in a little cupboard thing.”

“Ok, we’ll check there first.”

They carried the spices and seeds and things back to Sansa’s house, and Sansa couldn’t help being touched and surprised by this soft side of Sandor. She never would have guessed that he would be so domestic. She thought she could get used to this, as she let them back in the house.

Sandor immediately headed out to the back porch, which was only accessible through a side gate. “Too bad you can’t get out here through the house,” Sandor observed.

Sansa agreed, it was the main reason why she almost never came back here. She led him out the front door, down the front steps to the tiny front yard, looking a little shaggy at the moment. Sansa had been hoping she wouldn’t have to have it cut again before winter, but it didn’t seem like the grass was going to comply. To the left of the house, when facing it, a small flagged stone walk led around the house. The same tall, wrought-iron fence that separated the house from the sidewalk ran along the perimeter of the yard, 8-feet tall. The side-fence was overgrown with vine and small bushes that provided a measure of privacy from the street. Sansa came out a few times a year with clippers to trim it back so it didn’t completely take over the walk, but it had been a few months since she’d come out, and the greenery was threatening to go wild. The back was designed more as a garden than a lawn. Flower beds had been laid out on all three sides of the handkerchief-sized space (about 9 feet by 9 feet). A tiny tree grew in the corner, small, but hearty. Most of the space was taken up by a wooden deck, just a few inches off the ground, furnished with two deck chairs, and a little table. An umbrella stood furled in the corner, but probably hadn’t been used in years.

Sansa was surprised at how impressed Sandor was with the tiny little patch of green. “You don’t come out here much? You know how lucky you are to have a yard? Even if it is tiny, you could do a lot with it! What kind of tree is that?”

Sansa shook her head. “Not sure. It flowers in August, though. You should have seen it a few weeks ago.”

Sandor rummaged through her gardening supplies and found a round wooden planter, but no potting soil. He set the planter at the corner of the deck. “You should plant in these beds. Flowers probably, you might not have enough room for a full vegetable garden.”

“Are you going to help me?” she asked, coming up behind him and winding her arms around his waist, leaning her cheek against his back.

“Of course, if you want me to. You should let me cut your yard, too.” He turned so she was facing him, his arm wrapping around her shoulders.

“I don’t have a mower. I pay someone to do it.”

“What do you pay them?”

“$100.”

“A year?”

“No, each time they come out.”

Sandor shook his head. “You should stop. A cheap mower’s only a couple hundred at most. You buy it, and I will come mow.”

Sansa smiled, stepping up on the patio, getting a few inches of height on him when he stood on the ground. “So I guess you’re planning on sticking around, then?”

Sandor closed the gap to kiss her, and Sansa felt a familiar heat lick at her lower belly.

“Is that ok?” he asked, looking anxiously into her eyes.

Sansa let her arms wrap around his neck. “It’s perfect. I keep meaning to do all this stuff, like trim those vines and bushes, and actually plant something, but I don’t have much of a green thumb.”

Sandor twisted his head to look at the vines. “They don’t need to be trimmed, just pushed back. You could wind them around the fence, get more coverage.”

“Did you learn all this back in Scotland? I doubt you’ve been doing much gardening in Queens.”

He nodded. “My mum had a beautiful garden, the envy of the neighborhood. She always said it was in my blood.” He bent to kiss her again, a peck. “We’ll come out here before it gets too cold, have a few drinks, play some music, dance, listen to the traffic.”

Sansa giggled against his mouth as he leaned in to kiss her again, his mouth opening against hers this time, tongue dancing with hers. Her giggle deepened to a moan as Sandor’s hands reached down to cup her ass.

“First, maybe we should go back inside,” she murmured between kisses.

“Hmm. I thought she wasn’t talking to me anymore.”

Sansa laughed at the third-person mention of her lady parts. “I only said I wasn’t sure. But she seems very communicative now.”

Sansa led the way back to the front door, then straight upstairs to her bedroom. Sandor stopped her when she started to climb into bed.

“Come here,” he said softly, grabbing her hand. Sansa was happy to oblige, a big grin on her face.

“Turn around,” he murmured against her hair, and again, Sansa complied. “Close your eyes,” he murmured in her ear.

Sansa wasn’t sure if she should have been so eager to follow orders, but she had to admit, it was petty scintillating, as Sandor slipped his arms around her waist, standing behind her, his lips on her neck.

“No need to rush,” he offered by way of explanation as his hands wandered over her clothed body. One hand came up to trace her collarbone above the neckline of her tank top, as the other hand skimmed over her hips. Then one hand was over her breast, while the other rubbed her pubic bone, through her jeans. Then it became hard to keep track of his hands as they wandered at will over her body, all the while his lips were leaving small, tender kisses on her neck, her ear, her cheek and jaw. He kept this up for what felt like forever, until Sansa was sure her pussy was dripping straight through her underwear and jeans.

Finally, he unbuttoned the button of her jeans, and slid his hand in, straight to her pussy, but just held her in the palm of his hand for a moment, gently cupping the mound of her. Sansa must have made an impatient sound, because Sandor nibbled on her earlobe, murmuring that she should be patient.

Sansa let her hands wander back to him, in retaliation. One hand gripped the front of his thigh through his jeans, the other reaching up behind her to bury itself in his hair. She made another little impatient noise in the back of her throat.

Finally, Sandor slid his hand under her soft cotton underwear, letting his fingers explore her wet folds, making a soft sound of desire when he realized how wet she was. He slid one finger though her slick center, then dipped his finger towards her clit, just skimming over the sensitive organ. Sansa moaned, leaning her head back to bare her neck, eyes still closed. Sandor took her invitation and kissed her throat just above her carotid, letting his teeth scrape gently over the sensitive skin.

When Sansa thought she wouldn’t be able to stand another second, Sandor reached down to unzip her pants, pushing them and her underwear down her thighs. She opened her eyes then, turned toward Sandor, who slid his finger out of her folds with a slightly audible pop. Sansa pulled off her tank top in one fluid movement as Sandor reached down to un-fasten his own belt and jeans. Sansa unfastened her bra with a flick of her fingers, and stood in front of him, naked and panting with desire. Sandor was bare from the waist down, so Sansa let her eyes roam over his body as he pulled off his T-shirt.

This time, it was her turn to let her hands roam over him. In the brief moment he had the shirt over his head, when his eyes were covered and hands momentarily tangled in the fabric, she let her hands run over his torso, one hand down his hips to cup his cock, growing stiffer and stiffer under her fingers. He freed himself from the shirt, and his arms were around her, the distance between their bodies closed, their hands running over backs and cupping buttocks, squeezing and caressing and tickling. Sansa thought she would never get used to this, having a male body so close, that she could touch and stroke as she pleased. Sandor backed her up until her knees hit the bed, and she fell back against the bed.

He stood for a moment, just gazing at her, and his eyes roving up and down her body, his gaze so full of open lust and glowing worship. Sansa remembered what he’d said, when he said he’d burn the world for her, and wanted him more in that moment than she’d ever wanted anything.

She must have made some small noise of need, because his eyes wheeled up to hers, and he knelt on the bed above her. “Sorry, _eun beag_. I just couldn’t help looking at you.” He kissed her then, deeply, so she felt it in her toes. It was an amazing kiss that left Sansa panting, but she needed more.

“Sandor, fuck me. Need you to fuck me,” she cried hoarsely when he broke from her lips to attack her breasts with hands and tongue.

“Now? I was going to-” he broke off when she grabbed his hair and pulled, growling in the back of her throat.

“Yes, now. I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Sandor chuckled, a low, throaty sound that made Sansa shiver. “Love it when you get bossy.” He reached over to the nightstand, where she had deposited the new condoms after that morning, and began to unwrap one.

“It was my turn,” she retorted. Her voice sounded so foreign to her, husky and throaty, sounded like it came from a stranger.

Soon, the prophylactic device was properly applied, and Sandor was pushing inside of her, and Sansa made a low feral noise of satisfaction. Sandor grinned as he fucked her, murmuring into her ear all the filthy words she apparently loved to hear during sex. That had surprised her just as much as him, honestly.

Sansa pulled him close to her, so she had full contact from shoulder to hips, her thighs wrapped tight around his hips. One hand dug into his hair, his head buried next to hers so she could hear every whisper, every groan. Her other hand was pressed against the small of his back, pushing his hips into hers, setting a frantic pace.

“You coming already, little bird?” he rasped in her ear, and she nodded, words having momentarily abandoned her. Sandor drove his hips into hers in a long, dragging motion that gave her clit as much contact with his hips as possible, and after a few of these thrusts, she was crying out, loud, inhuman noises, something that should come from a wounded animal, not a healthy human woman.

Sandor pushed up onto his hands, then, staring down at her as he continued pushing in and out of her warm, throbbing cunt. “Fuck, Sansa. You’ll be the death of me, you know that?”

Sansa made a small, dismissive noise. “Don’t care. Just keep fucking me.”

He chuckled again, that rich, earthy sound Sansa loved so much. “Til I’m a corpse, then. Just for you.”

He fucked her for a while in this position, torsos no longer touching. Their hands and eyes made up for the lack of contact, Sansa’s hands caressing his chest, running through the prairie of his chest hair, then down his stomach, up his sides to his arms, up his face, through his beard, lingering at his burned cheek, her thumb dipping across his lips. He drew her thumb into his mouth and sucked gently.

Sandor pushed himself upright, crouching on his legs so his ankles were under his hips. He pulled Sansa’s hips up with him, she ended up with her thighs on either side of his chest, although she was still lying on her back. Sandor reached forward and grabbed a few pillows, stuffing them under her lower back to support her hips in her newly inclined position. He pulled her legs up, so her feet rested on his chest, and began to thrust again, grunting in appreciation of the new angle this position created.

Sansa moaned her approval. There was a new tension to this position, a heightened sensation inside as his cock dragged along the sides of her cunt, hitting a new spot inside her, a place she didn’t think anyone but her gynecologist had ever visited before. His hand reached down along her legs, momentarily distracted by the soft skin of her thighs. He finally reached her clit, and began lightly rubbing with his thumb, first circling it, then lightly dragging the pad of his thumb across it, then massaging with more and more pressure. Sansa never knew what she liked better, his cock, his talented tongue, or his nimble fingers, that knew her nerves and responses seemingly better than she knew herself.

Sansa looked up at him, and felt a strange sensation steal over her. Even though he was farther away from her than ever, she never felt closer to him, more in sync. Something was washing over her, something strong and visceral, far more powerful than just sexual chemistry, even stronger than her orgasms. She knew, she just _knew_ , that there was something more here than just the ways their bodies fit together, that she could fit her life to his, if he would meet her in the endeavor.

Then her orgasm crashed over her, and she threw her head back, blissfully unaware of the strange noises she was making as Sandor continued to stroke her clit, sending her even higher and higher until she hardly felt her body at all, was hardly aware of having any body parts besides her clit and her cunt, being filled so thoroughly by his hard cock. She shuddered, and suddenly found herself falling off that cliff again, another orgasm pulsing over her, not as strong as the first, or second? She was losing count. Anyways, not as strong as the one from a few seconds ago, but strong enough to make her legs shake, her stomach tremble.

Sandor lightened his touch, just giving her enough contact to bring her back down gently, simultaneously quickening the pace of his thrusts. Sansa looked up at him through some kind of fog that had covered her eyes, but his gaze pierced her through, so intense was his expression. His face scrunched up, jaw working as he opened and closed his mouth several times. A muscle stood out in his neck, jumping with his exertions, then he threw back his head, let out a loud grunt, and then he was slowing the speed of his hips against hers. Sansa made some kind of moaning noise in sympathy and encouragement as Sandor gave a few final thrusts. Then, he withdrew from her with a small little moan of mourning, before collapsing onto the bed.

He lay for a few moments, chest heaving, before reaching for her, pulling her on top of him to lay across his chest, legs straddling his. His arms surrounded her, hands stroking her hair and back. Sansa could have wept. She’d never felt so blissfully full, sexually and emotionally, so loved and cared for, and at the same time, so sexually sated. How did he make her feel like a princess, pure and chaste, but also like a lustful vixen, dirty and seductive, all at the same time?

Sansa decided to stop trying to understand, and closed her eyes. She was distantly aware of Sandor speaking; he seemed to be crooning something to her in Gaelic. Not understanding the words didn’t keep her from feeling the warmth and protectiveness in his voice, and Sansa slipped gratefully into a light slumber, murmuring softly that she was so unbearably happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where my Science Olympians at? Woot!
> 
> Also, Dad Sandor is here. Stop paying someone to cut your lawn, he'll do it. And probably trim the tree. And plant a garden. Cause he's Dad.
> 
> And then more smut, cause it's me!
> 
> Next chapter: Sandor gets a tour of the house and it's dinner time! And they eat pasta!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa gives Sandor a tour of the house before the two cook dinner. Sandor gets a big surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a long one, but I hope you enjoy it.

Sandor dozed for a while, woke up when Sansa shifted, her hip digging into his bladder. He turned carefully, moving his hips to ease the pressure. Sansa stirred and Sandor felt her yawn.

“We made another mess,” she chuckled. “You feel sticky.”

Sandor kissed the top of her head. “I like your messes.”

Sansa tilted her head up to kiss him lightly, then she was leaning up and back, combing through her hair with her fingers, and Sandor took the chance to let his eyes wander over her. She chuckled, her eyes hooded.

“Later, my legs are killing me.” She swung her leg over Sandor’s hips, face grimacing involuntarily at the stiffness in her hips and thighs. “Ah, remind me not to fall asleep in that position again.”

Sandor reached over to massage her hips. “You all right?”

She stood on unsteady legs. “I think so. Should have known you’d make me walk funny.”

Sandor stood, examining the remnants of Sansa’s excitement, that had half-dried on his stomach. “You have a washcloth I could use?”

“Sure.” Sansa opened a drawer, and handed him a coarse-blue cloth, slightly scratchy, but serviceable. Sandor wet the cloth, added a dot of hand soap, and scrubbed his stomach until it was clean. Once he was done, and had relieved his bladder, he began to dress.

For the first time, he looked around the room at leisure, examining the furniture that seemed a little hodge-podge. The bed was handsome, the mattress firmer than Sandor was used to, although he liked it better than his crappy, lumpy mattress. A beautiful dressing table sat against the wall by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the table cluttered with makeup, hair brushes, combs, perfume bottles, and what appeared to be hundreds of bobby pins. A battered dresser stood on the opposite wall by the closet, drawers half-opened, articles of clothing peeking out. Sandor finished dressing as Sansa emerged from the en suite, drying her hands before crossing to the closet.

Once again, he could hardly help the sweep of his eyes over her form. Sansa must have noticed, her cheeks flushed delicately. Sandor felt himself blushing also.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Sansa smiled as she reached into her dresser to pull out a pair of black boy shorts. “It’s ok,” she said as she pulled on the underwear, then went to her closet to select a T-shirt (this one said, “Dancers do it in front of a mirror”) and a pair of shorts. “I’m just not used to it, yet.”

She gestured to her clothes. “Hope you don’t mind if I dress down for our date.”

“You look adorable. I like your line of sexually-suggestive dance shirts.”

She smiled. “Thanks. They were ridiculously popular like a decade ago. I haven’t gotten around to getting rid of them yet.”

“Weren’t you in high school then?”

Sansa laughed. “Yeah, we thought they were racy. Mum was probably appalled, but then, I was having my bad girl phase. I started smoking and drinking, and hanging out with slightly unsavory people. Almost wrecked my dance career before it started.”

Sandor saw the pain in her eyes, though he was glad she was able to talk about it with a level voice and dry eyes. “What happened?”

“Petyr, if you can believe it.” Sansa wandered over to her dressing table, began organizing the jewelry strewn about there. Sandor came to lean against the bed where he could see her reflection in the mirror. “Kind of gave me a wake-up call. Reminded me of how hard I’d worked, asked me not to throw it away. Took me to see their company’s production of _Swan Lake_. Cersei was dancing the lead. He told me he could see me dancing the lead, someday. Told me how beautiful and perfect I would be. But if I kept up the way I was, missing lessons and shirking my practice, I’d never get there.”

She stood up from the table, turned around to face him. “He’s not an entirely bad person, he’s just a bit of a creep, sometimes.” She went to stand in front of Sandor, standing between his legs, so they were more or less at eye-level. Sandor couldn’t help his hands going to her waist, as her arms wrapped around his neck. She kissed him gently, eyes wide open, so he felt hypnotized by their blue depths.

“Do you think that’s why you’re attracted to me?”

She tilted her head, eyes quizzical. “You lost me.”

“Because of your father. That’s what people will think, isn’t it? Some kind of father issues?”

Her eyes glinted, her lips pursing. “I don’t give a damn what _people_ think. Is that what you think?”

He hesitated, weighing his words, not wanting to make her angry. “I think it might have something to do with it, yeah.”

Sansa smirked, shrugging one shoulder. “My therapist used to say everyone has daddy issues, most people just won’t admit to it. Though you’re really nothing like my father.”

Sandor smiled in spite of himself. “That’s good to know.”

“If I were to be honest with myself, I guess part of my attraction has something to do with this tall, broad frame,” she ran her hands over his arms and shoulders to illustrate. “It does do something to me, I’ll admit it. I look at you and something deep in my DNA says _He can protect you_. But I don’t really think that’s the same as daddy issues. We’re all looking for someone to protect us, aren’t we?”

He grunted, leaned over to kiss her quickly. “Even us big, tall fellas,” he admitted.

Sansa put two hands on either side of his shoulders. “So, I guess you never got the full tour. Want to see the top floors?”

He smiled and stood up. “Of course.”

She showed him the next bedroom. “This was Arya’s. I’d love to say I kept everything up for nostalgia. But really, I’m just too lazy to pack everything away. Besides, she doesn’t have room at her dorm. And it's not like I would do anything else with the room.”

The room was simple, a little on the small side. A twin bed stood in the corner, next to a desk piled high with books. She appeared to like sci-fi. Sandor squirreled that fact away for future reference. Posters stood on the wall, of bands he’d never heard of, punk-looking with safety pins in their eyebrows and hot pink hair; along with a few movie posters, and an arty print of fencing postures.

Sansa noticed him looking at the band posters. “Ah yes, her emo phase. Lucky she grew out of that.”

She led the way through the small shared bath to a bedroom Sandor could already tell used to be hers. The entire thing was pink, a twin bed in the middle of the floor covered in a pale pink bedspread, the four-poster frame draped with gauzy curtains that were a darker, rosy pink. The walls were covered in pictures of ballerinas, mostly modern, men and women, as well as playbills and advertisements for shows, most dated six or seven years ago. A few pairs of ballet shoes hung by their ribbons around the windows.

“Those were from my first shows,” she explained, pointing to the shoes. “I used to collect them, now they’re in a box in the attic. Mum would never let me throw them out, the ones I wore during a performance.”

She led the way through the door back into the hallway, then led him up a set of stairs at the back part of the house. The attic was spacious, with light flooding in from dormer windows. Two beds were up here, set between two of the windows. A few toys still scattered the floor, as well as boxes of children’s clothes. The other half of the attic was full of storage, a table, mismatched sets of furniture, lots of boxes neatly labelled with one of the children’s names. Towards the back, Sandor spotted boxes labelled _Robb_ and _Catelyn_ as well as boxes labelled _Ned_ in a flowing cursive script.

“Your parents’ names?” Sandor pointed at the boxes.

Sansa nodded. “Yep. Cat and Ned. Short for Eddard.” She turned back to the stairs. “Oh, I haven’t shown you the piano.”

Sandor followed her back down to the first floor. “Where was Robb’s room?”

“He had the basement. I won’t show you that, it’s probably a mess.” She rolled her eyes, then led him to a door he hadn’t noticed before, to the right of the kitchen. The door, which slid to the side instead of swinging in or out, opened on what must have been a dining room. A folding table stood in the center, somewhat at odds with the beautiful wood floors, the five floor-to-ceiling windows, and the sideboard, made of some old dark wood. The piano was by far the show piece, though, a grand. Most grand pianos were black, though, this one was a soft, reddish-brown. His eyes travelled to the music rest, cut in a beautiful design of a sun burst, a half-circle at the bottom, with slender beams cut out between the circle and the square-edges to make it look like a rising sun, shooting forth beams of light.

“Fuck me sideways. Is that a Bechstein?”

Sansa laughed. “Yes, it’s been in the family for years.”

“I’d say 1910,” he murmured, stroking the curve of the piano’s body with almost trembling fingers.

“I think you’re right,” she smiled, coming to stand beside him. “Are you in love?”

“Who wouldn’t be in love with this old bird? She’s fucking gorgeous.” He walked to the keys, hesitated. “Do you mind?”

“Please, she deserves to be played by someone who really knows how.”

Sandor sat down, lifted the lid from the keys. He loved old pianos, especially the keys. They had such character, like you could feel the people who had played them before. He was not a sentimental man, and he had no belief in ghosts or spirits, except a little bit when he played an old piano. This one was almost the oldest he’d ever played: once in Scotland, he’d played one from the 1880s. It was an almost religious experience.

He began with a simple chord progression, feeling her out. He hardly noticed when Sansa sat down. His fingers began to play Liszt, almost without intending to, his fingers building up the phrases, the tones rising and then falling. He marveled at the responsiveness of the keys.

“Hear how the timbre changes? That’s how it’s voiced, it responds to the pressures of your fingers, just like-” he broke off, playing the next section brightly and at a slightly faster tempo than normal, building to a crescendo that plateaued, peaked, withered away. Then the sparkling waterfall of sound as his fingers danced down the keys, up, then down again. Then the main theme again, slower than he normally played it, so haunting. He had never felt the weariness of the notes so keenly before, aching and forlorn. Then the final section, slightly more hopeful, but still subdued. The final notes hummed for a few moments after he took his hands from the keys.

“Sandor,” he heard a breathy whisper from his right. He turned, having momentarily forgotten where he was. He smiled.

“That’s a beautiful fucking piano, Sansa. Please promise me you’ll never sell it.”

She smiled. “I’ll never sell it. My grandmother would come back from the grave if I did. It was very special to her, although it was my great-great grandparents’ piano.”

She touched the keys softly, not pressing hard enough to sound the strings, just to feel the warm ivory.

“My grandparents met in high school. My great-grandparents were strict, they never let my grandda take Nana out on dates. They got to sit in here, while my great-grandparents sat in the sitting room,” she pointed to the sliding door behind them. “And Nana and Grandda could sit in here alone as long as Nana kept playing the piano. She said if she stopped for even a moment, her mother would come in to check on them. So Nana learned to do this. Turn around.”

Sandor swiveled so his back was facing the keys, and Sansa slid into his lap, straddling his legs. She reached around him, peeked over his shoulder to check her position, and began to play as she leaned forward to kiss him. After a few moments, Sansa’s fingers faltered on the keys, playing a few wrong notes.

“She must have had amazing concentration to keep it up. Although, I think my great-grandmother must have noticed at some part. I mean, there’s no way to reach the pedals like this. Maybe she figured, as long as there was some kind of music playing, they couldn’t have been getting into too much trouble.”

Sandor turned back to the keys, lifting his legs over the end of the piano bench, turning Sansa with him. “I wonder if I could do it,” he mused, kissing Sansa as he began the opening bars of _Clair de lune_. Sansa murmured against his mouth.

“I thought you hated this song?” she said in between kisses.

“Of course not, I hated having to play it so often.” He kept up the melody as Sansa molded herself to him, her fingers running distractingly through his hair as her tongue explored his mouth, her teeth nipping periodically at his lower lip.

Sandor let his mind wander to appreciate the piano once more, admiring at how adaptable the piano was, the keys responding to his fingers just like-

“I remember what I was going to say,” he gasped, as Sansa tilted her head back and let him place delicate kisses on her neck. “The keys respond to me just like you do. Play them softly and you get a small, sweet music from them.” He left a few soft kisses under her ear, drawing a low breathy moan from her. “Use more pressure, and you get a much louder, more robust sound.” He grinned against her neck as he finished the final notes of the song and lowered his hands to Sansa’s waist. “Just like you.”

Sansa grinned. “Are you saying you play me like a piano?”

“Except you play me too.” He tickled his fingers over her ribs like he was playing the keys on her sides. Sansa shrieked with laughter, and Sandor felt his cock twitch. _Again_? he thought with wonder. He really had turned into an 18-year-old.

“Again?” Sansa murmured against his mouth.

Sandor kissed Sansa deeply, but then leaned back to brush her hair back from her face. “Later. Right now, I’m hungry.”

Sansa raised her eyebrows, and Sandor laughed. “Not for that, at least right now. Now I want pasta.”

They returned to the kitchen, and Sandor helped Sansa fill a pot with water for the pasta, then started on the sauce, adding diced tomato and a can of tomato sauce to a pan, then adding plenty of seasonings. Sandor turned the burner down to let the sauce simmer, while Sansa opened the second bottle of wine and poured two glasses. Sandor took a sip, and nodded in appreciation.

“I normally don’t go in for wine, but that’s not bad,” he said, studying the label.

“Mum always said, never cook with any wine you wouldn’t drink. That’s the same wine I used on the roast.”

“What’d your mum do?” Sandor asked, stirring the pasta as it boiled so it wouldn’t stick.

“She was a lawyer, she worked for a non-profit that helped refugees apply for asylum. It was a tough job.” Sansa hopped up on the counter next to the stove. With her legs dangling and shoulders hunched, Sandor could see what she looked like as a teenager, all gangly limbs and big curious eyes.

“And your dad?”

“He was a lawyer, too. Family law. Mostly helped people get divorced, but he did adoptions, too.”

Sandor stirred the sauce, then held wooden spoon to Sansa’s lips, a dab of sauce in the well of the spoon. “Blow.”

Sansa complied with a raised eyebrow, then took the lip of the spoon in her mouth. She murmured, and Sandor took the spoon away, dropped it in the sink.

“That’s good,” Sansa said with a small smile, then pulled him closer to her by his shirt, until he stood with hips flush to hers, Sansa’s legs around his hips. He braced himself against the cabinet behind Sansa as he leaned forward to kiss her. Sansa kissed him back languidly, almost lazily, her arms snaking around his back, up under his shirt, fingers clinging to his skin. Her legs trapped his hips against his, grinding him into her pelvis, creating a pleasurable friction.

She let his lips go to take in gulps of air. Sandor took the opportunity to make a meal of the soft skin on her neck, right under her jaw. “If your goal was to make me hard again, you are well on your way, little bird.”

“That is always my goal. I just want you to be a walking hard-on, 24/7.”

Sandor grunted as the timer went off, which he was now grateful he’d remembered to set, or else they would have kept snogging on the countertop while the pasta turned to mush. Sansa let him go with a reluctant moan and a final kiss. “Mission accomplished,” Sandor replied with a grin.

He drained the pasta, tossed it in a bit of sauce to keep from sticking, and Sansa jumped down from the counter to grab plates and silverware. She also got down glasses and filled them with filtered water. As Sandor served them plates of spaghetti topped by spoonfuls of marinara and generous helpings of shredded mozzarella, Sansa took both glasses of water and wine to the coffee table in the sitting room.

“Hope you don’t mind. I usually just sit in here or in the kitchen to eat. I never like to eat in the dining room by myself. Too quiet.”

Sandor brought the plates of pasta and forks into the sitting room, shrugging. “I don’t mind. Want to watch a movie?”

“I don’t have cable or anything.” Sansa refilled their wine glasses, returned from the kitchen with napkins. Sandor had already turned on the TV, flipping through the open access channels until he reached his favorite, the one that showed reruns of 70s TV shows during the day, and black and white movies after 6 PM. It was probably mostly watched by old people, but at least it was free.

“What’s this?” Sansa asked, perched on the sofa next to him, expertly twirling spaghetti around her fork.

“Dunno. That’s Gary Cooper. Don’t think I’ve seen this one, though.”

It was a drama, that much was apparent, maybe a war flick, judging by the martial background score that played in the interludes. Something about brothers who lived with their aunt. The youngest brother was flirting with a younger girl who also lived at the house.

“Is that his cousin?” Sansa asked, taking a sip of wine.

Sandor grinned. “I have all of the same information you do, goose.”

Sansa laughed, rolling her eyes. “Ok, ok.”

“She’s probably the aunt’s ward, or charity case or something. Even back then, cousins were still pretty taboo, and that guy is crushing hard.”

They ate silently for a while, watching the next scene, where the aunt’s famous jewel was stolen when the lights suddenly went dark. Everyone began to suspect each other.

“Ooo, I thought it was going to be a murder mystery, but it’s a jewel heist!” Sansa said appreciatively, setting her plate on the coffee table, a few noodles left in a little pond of sauce. Sandor finished a few minutes later, took their plates back to the kitchen, rinsing them off and setting them in the sink. He refilled their wine glasses when he returned, then settled back in the couch. Sansa immediately leaned back against his chest, and he settled his arm around her. For a moment, he was surprised at how natural this felt, worried for a second at how quickly he could get used to this. But then he pushed that thought aside as Sansa leaned forward to take a sip from her wine, then took his glass from his hand and set it on the coffee table next to hers.

Instead of resuming her position in the middle of the couch, leaning back against him, she turned and placed her back against the arm of the other side of the sofa, legs facing him, spread just wide enough to be enticing. She moved a decorative pillow to support her back, then crooked her finger to him.

Sandor leaned toward her, although his size made any cuddling on the tiny sofa awkward. Sansa didn’t seem to mind, though she eventually pushed him back to his upright sitting position, straddling him like she had on Friday night. No complaints, as this was quickly becoming Sandor’s favorite position for making out, as Sansa had called it. Easy access to her hips and ass, it put her lips at the perfect height to reach his, he didn’t have to worry about crushing her, and it gave her control. He was quickly learning that he liked it when Sansa was in control.

She ground down on his hips particularly firmly, causing Sandor to groan audibly. Sansa started nibbling on his ear, nipping gently down his neck, then lapped her tongue against his skin.

“Maybe it’s time to go upstairs,” she suggested when Sandor buried his hand in her hair, pulling her closer to him so he could kiss her mouth. He grunted against her lips.

Sandor pulled back a moment, gazing at him with soft blue eyes. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“I would literally do _anything_ you ask right now,” he moaned, hips bucking at the delicious friction Sansa was creating at his crotch.

“Will you fuck me from behind?” she asked, before leaning in to kiss him softly, eyes wide and watching him.

“A favor? For you. Fuck you from behind as a _favor_ to _you_?” he asked, in between more kisses, so soft they were almost over-sensitizing his lips.

Sansa nodded. Sandor groaned. “All right, but you owe me one.”

Sansa giggled and leapt off of his lap, bounding away like a doe. Sandor had to scramble behind her, chasing her up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He caught her just inside the bedroom door, sliding one hand around her waist and pulling her back against his chest, sweeping her hair aside with his free hand so his lips could find the sensitive skin at her neck. Sansa whimpered when he slid his hand down inside her shorts, over her underwear. He loved the way her cunt fit in his hand, the way he could cup her labia, clit and entrance with his fingers and still cover her pubic bone with his palm. He applied gentle pressure to her pelvis as he slid his middle finger along the slit of her cunt, gratified when he could feel her start to soak through the fabric.

“So wet for me,” he murmured, sucking gently at her neck, not hard enough to leave a mark, just enough to make her moan and soak through her underwear just a little bit more.

“This is what you like, isn’t it?” he continued, husky and low, as one finger continued to trace the outline of her folds through the cotton. “Hard, rough, a little dirty, but with a good long cuddle at the end?”

Sansa gasped when his other hand moved down from her neck to cup her breast, pinching her nipple between two fingers, not hard, just enough to make her cry out, arching her back, pushing her ass back into his groin, her neck exposed. She smiled as her eyes fluttered shut. “You might be right,” she sighed with a smile, then reached one hand back to cup his bulge. “But you like it too.”

“Fuck yes, I do,” he groaned, pulling down the black spandex shorts, pushing them down over her thighs until they fell to the floor. Then he pulled up the T-shirt, up and over her head, running his hands down her breasts to her waist, rounding over her hips, over the front of her thighs, pressing his cock to her ass, pushing her forwards until she was doubled over. He enjoyed the feeling of covering her, her small form trembling beneath him. He slid his arms around her waist, lifting her up carefully and carrying her the few short steps to the bed, where he set her down on her knees, standing behind her, hands roaming over her soft skin.

Sandor took a step back to pull his T-shirt up over his head, reaching for his belt as Sansa bent forward, supporting her weight on his hands, walking forward on the bed on all fours. Sandor swore softly at the sight of her round, firm ass, swaying back and forth as she moved. When he had shed all his clothes, he knelt on the bed behind Sansa, bent down to kiss her shoulder, down her back, her hip. He slipped two fingers under the waistband of her underwear, drew them slowly over her ass, down her thighs, lifted her legs so they slipped under her knees, then down past her feet, tossed them onto the floor.

He slid one hand over her ass, appreciating her smooth skin, the round shape of her. He spread her legs slightly, then bent his head, after taking in the sight of her dripping cunt. He placed his hand on her back, between her shoulders, guiding her to lower her chest to the bed to expose more of her cunt to him, then lowered his mouth to her, tongue reaching around the front of her to lap at her clit. Sansa moaned, pressing back against his face. Sandor laid two hands on her ass to hold her steady, then resumed flicking his tongue against her clit, faster and faster until Sansa was panting, hips reflexively pushing back against him as she came.

Sandor straightened, running his hand along the small of her back, eyes following the path of a drop of her cum down the inside of her thigh. Then Sansa murmured something he couldn’t quite hear. He bent forward on all fours above her, kissing her neck.

“What did you say?”

“I’ve never done it like this before.”

He stopped to consider. “You still want to?”

She moaned, pushing her ass back against his hips. “Very much.”

“I’ll go slow. Tell me if you want to stop.”

She nodded and Sandor sat back up, reaching to the nightstand for a condom. Sansa turned and watched him over her shoulder, as he slid the condom over his cock, then positioned himself behind her. Sansa pushed up onto her hands, and Sandor guided her to push her legs closer together, his legs straddling hers. He pushed one finger inside her, noting the angle of her entrance, then removed his finger and pressed his cock to her slick entrance. Slowly, he pushed inside, one hand on the small of her back, holding her steady, one hand guiding his cock.

Sansa moaned as he entered her, and Sandor made a similarly guttural noise in the back of his throat as she unfolded around him, conforming to his every curve, like a lock to a key. He pushed all the way in, until her ass was flush against his hips. With both hands on her hips, now, he pushed back, pulling out almost all the way, but not quite, slowly, appreciating the hitch in her breathing as he pushed just as slowly back in. This time, Sansa pushed back slightly against him, meeting his thrust. Sandor paused, fully sheathed in her.

“Is that ok?” he asked, his hand moving caressingly down the small of her back.

She nodded her head once, cleared her throat after her first attempt at speech came out froggy. “Yes, it’s wonderful.”

He started slow, reveling in the feel of her strong walls flexing and molding to his cock, as he thrust in and out. He kept his hands on her ass, before slipping one hand forward through the valley between her hip and thigh, reaching for the front of her cunt, sliding one finger over her clit.

Sansa’s noises had increased in volume and pitch as soon as he started moving with more urgency. When his finger landed on her clit, she cried out with more fervor, pushing back against him harder and harder, a loud thwapping sound filling the air from the slap of his hips against her ass. He loved the sound. He slid his index finger across Sansa’s clit, faster and faster, her cries growing more and more frenzied, louder and higher in pitch, and suddenly she was crying out louder still, more ecstatic, head thrown back, her walls clenching around his cock.

Sandor dropped his hand, but kept thrusting into her, pushing her through her peak, riding out the waves of pleasure. After a moment, he noticed Sansa looking to her right, turned his head and saw their reflections in the mirror on the dressing table. They were positioned slightly diagonally on the bed, so Sandor could see more of Sansa than he could of himself, could see her lovely breasts jiggle with every thrust of his hips, her face, eyes meeting his in the mirror, and himself, driving into her again and again.

“You like that, don’t you?” he grumbled. “Watching us in the mirror?”

She grunted, her cries growing again, louder and louder. Sandor distantly wondered if the neighbors could hear, realized he didn’t care. “Like watching me fuck you?”

“Yes,” Sansa cried out, back arching, driving back into him as hard as she could. “Fuck me, Sandor.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, pounding her as hard as he could. Sansa was crying, high shrieks, as she came again around his cock, pulsing so hard it sent him over the edge as well, losing himself in a dizzying orgasm just as the bedroom door burst open.

Sandor dimly registered the intrusion, brain too high on his euphoria to really appreciate that there was a woman, short and slender, standing in the door, until Sansa started shouting.

“What the fuck, Arya?” she yelled, scrambling away from Sandor, reaching for a robe slung on the chair by the bed.

“I’m sorry! You were screaming, I thought you were being murdered.”

Sandor turned back to the doorway, to notice the girl was openly staring at him, eyes roaming up and down.

“Hi,” he murmured, out of breath. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Arya! Stop fucking staring!” Sansa strode over, robe secured, and grabbed the girl firmly by the upper arm. Arya stood her ground for just a moment.

“Please tell me you have a brother,” she said with a wicked smile.

Sansa hauled the girl towards the door, growling as she did, but Arya stopped at the door and threw back behind her: “Or a sister. I’m not picky!”

Sandor burst into nervous laughter as the door swung shut behind them. He fell face-forward into the bed, collapsing in a boneless heap.

“What the fuck just happened?” he asked the empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sandor! The Stark girls will be the death of him!
> 
> [Liebestraum](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lhW_tRmpLFs) performed by Lang Lang was the inspiration for the piece Sandor plays for Sansa. Very beautiful. It means "love dream" or "dream of love". I had a lot of fun researching pianos for that part.
> 
> I'm all caught up, so I might slow down my postings, hopefully at least once a week. Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life returns somewhat to normal for Sansa and Sandor. A new ballerina joins the company.

Sansa finally pulled her sister to face her in front of the door, which Arya had left ajar in her haste. Sansa shut the door, and turned off the alarm system, which was still buzzing. The last thing she needed was the cops showing up.

“I’m sorry! Seriously, you were so loud, I really thought you were getting raped or something.”

Sansa gave Arya a withering look, but relented when she saw the sincerity on her sister’s face. “You came running up the stairs to rescue me? From a rapist, empty-handed?”

Arya lifted her hand and showed her the tazer she’d had concealed in her pocket. “But you seemed to be enjoying yourself,” Arya said with a sly smile.

Sansa flicked her sister’s bare arm, and the girl flinched. “I can’t believe the way you stared at him.”

“I couldn’t help it, I was mesmerized,” Arya replied with a giggle.

“What are you even doing here?”

“I texted you, but I guess you were busy. I left my ID badge.” Arya headed into the dining room, flipping on the light. Sansa stood in the doorway while Arya shifted the booklets and instruction manuals for the game they had played the night before. She finally found it, underneath the game box.

Arya approached Sansa again, meekly. “I really am sorry. I really did thing something bad was happening to you. I know it sounds ridiculous.”

Sansa smirked. “I know. Thanks for apologizing anyway.”

She ruffled her sister’s hair. “Go on now, don’t you have classes tomorrow?”

Arya rolled her eyes as she walked past Sansa to the door. “It’s like nine o’clock, sis.”

Sansa laughed as she waved to Arya, locking the door and setting the alarm. She fished her phone out of her purse, from where it sat by the door, checking her messages as she turned off the TV and the lights and made her way upstairs.

Two hours ago: **I think I left my badge at the house. Can I come by and get it?**

One hour ago: **Sansa? You there?**

Five minutes ago: **Hey, I’m here. I’m coming in.**

Sansa pushed open the bedroom door that had swung mostly closed, laughed when she saw Sandor slumped on the bed on his stomach, head turned to face the door. She came to sit on the bed beside him, rubbing his back.

“I’m so sorry, she apparently thought I was being raped and murdered. She came by to get something she left behind last night, but I didn’t get her texts because we were busy.”

Sandor rolled over onto his side, smiling. He took her hand, kissed the back of it. “No need to apologize. It was funny, eventually. At first it was bewildering and kind of terrifying. She does have good timing. Right as I was coming.”

Sansa leaned forward, resting her head against his back. “That was really good, by the way. Like, amazing. You did come, then? It was all a blur at the end.”

Sandor rolled over, pulled Sansa to his chest. “Aye, I came good and hard. So, that was your sister, eh? I guess I should feel lucky she didn’t challenge me to a duel.”

Sansa giggled. “There’s no swords in this house, not that I’m aware of. She did have her tazer, though.”

Sandor laughed loud and long, pulling Sansa to him and kissing her. “Well, then I’d have known it was your sister, right? Wouldn’t be a date if I wasn’t getting threatened with a tazer, would it?”

Sandor ran his hand through her hair, kissed her gently. “Come back to bed. You didn’t get your cuddle. Hold on, need to take care of this.”

Sansa slipped out of the robe, and slid under the covers while Sandor went to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. “I should really get a little trashcan to set by the bed,” she remarked. “Though I do like watching you go and come back.”

Sandor flipped off the light before sliding into bed, pulling Sansa into his arms. “Little minx.” He kissed her deeply for a few minutes, then pulled back to kiss down her neck. “I did enjoy it from behind, but I missed the kissing. You were so far away,” he murmured.

Sansa giggled, combing her fingers through his hair. “I agree. It was nice, but I don’t see it becoming an every day thing. For one, I think my pussy is going to be slightly annoyed with me. She’s only done this a few times before this weekend, and now it’s like I can’t stop.”

“How long ago was that?” Sandor asked, switching to the other side of her neck to kiss and nibble.

“Two years ago. But it wasn’t nearly as fun,” she murmured sleepily, eyes shut.

Sandor mumbled something against her neck that Sansa didn’t hear. She yawned deeply. “What did you say?”

Sandor chuckled as he leaned over to turn off the light. “I said you’re cute when you’re sleepy.” Sansa didn’t reply, quickly drifting off to sleep.

In the morning, Sansa’s alarm went off at 6. Sandor grumbled until she turned it off, though his mood seemed to improve once she turned to spoon him, her body curling around his as much as she could, her arm draping over his side to stroke his chest hair. He caught her hand, kissing the fingers.

“Think you’re obsessed with my chest hair,” he murmured as he let her resume her petting.

Sansa giggled. “I’ve never been with a man with chest hair. Or muscles.” She ran her hand down his chest to his trim torso, defined but not overly-chiseled. She liked that about him, in shape but not a gym rat.

Sandor rolled over to face her, pulling her closer to him, once more reveling in the feel of her against him, the way she fit against him, molding her body to his. He kissed the top of her head, but made no move to get up or to start any amorous activities. He was content to lie with Sansa for as long as they could get away with before risking tardiness.

“Sansa,” he murmured, dipping his head to breathe in the scent of her hair. Sansa murmured an inquisitive hum, and Sandor continued.

“Do you mind if I ask about who you were with before?” He reached up to run his hand down her back. “Just if you want to tell me.”

Sansa began kissing distractingly down his neck. “What do you want to know?”

“What kinds of stuff did you do? What did you like?”

“Um, pretty much just missionary. I think we had sex like four times? I was on top once.”

“Was there anything you did like about it?”

“Hmm… I did come when I was on top, but that was just because I touched myself. My clit was apparently a mystery to him.”

“Did you date him too?”

“Um, no not really. He was a fuckboy. I didn’t realize at first, but it became apparent pretty quickly.”

Sandor continued stroking his hand up and down her back. “It’s just surprising to me, you’re clearly very sexual.”

Sansa raised her head, adopting a quizzical expression that Sandor could tell was joking. “Huh, what makes you think that?”

Sandor chuckled. “I don’t know, the ten orgasms you had yesterday between four sexual encounters might have tipped me off. Not saying there’s anything wrong with not having a lot of sexual partners, it’s fine. Just wondering if you’ve always been this randy.”

“Vibrators work wonders. But I’ll admit, I used to be more of a 'masturbate a few times a week' kind of girl, not every day, and definitely not ten times a day. Not having to do it all myself has increased my appetite a bit.”

Sansa finally leaned in to kiss him, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his. In a very short time, his body had responded to his, but when he reached to touch her between her legs, to see if she was wet, Sansa winced. She was very wet, but also, apparently, very sore.

“Yeah, I think it’s gonna be a no-go for a little while, at least. We probably pushed it too far last night,” Sansa murmured against his neck, though she made no move to stop kissing.

“That’s ok. We probably don’t have time, anyway.”

“Not if you want to take a shower,” Sansa murmured.

“Will you be joining me?” Sandor asked, nibbling at her ear.

Sansa giggled, and pushed him away, sitting up. “No, I take a shower after work. Besides, I know what’ll happen if I get in the shower with you!”

Sandor sat up, pushing away the covers, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he protested with a devilish grin. He started the shower as Sansa brushed her teeth and splashed some water on her face. After using the toilet, she went over to the closet, picking up her clothes from the night before and depositing them in the proper hampers before opening her closet.

Shoes were stuck in a caddy that hung over the door, tights were draped over an elaborate triple-tiered hanger that had been advertised for tie storage. At the back of the closet (which was not quite a walk-in, but still pretty big) was a box of new ballet shoes, with a calendar hanging over the wall with a pen dangling from a string next to it. Sansa consulted the calendar and saw that she’d last changed shoes last Wednesday. She remembered she’d put new shoes in her bag last Friday, though, so she did not take out a new pair now.

She selected a pair of pale pink tights, a green leotard, and a dark grey skirt. To wear on the streets for the walk over, she selected a black tank top and a black mini skirt. She had just pulled on a pair of white cheeky underwear when Sandor came out of the shower, towel wrapped low around his waist, hair damp, but not dripping. He whistled at her low and throaty, and Sansa flushed. She gave a little spin, and Sandor chuckled.

“Good enough to eat.”

Sansa dressed quickly, pulling on tights, skirt and tank top, then packing the leotard into her dance bag, before sitting down at her dressing table to brush out her hair. Sandor had finished dressing by then, jeans and a T-shirt, his everyday uniform, and sat on the bed to watch her. Once she combed the tangles out of her hair, Sansa pulled it back into a chignon at the base of her neck, securing the bun with a few spiral pins. She shook her head a few times and gave the bun a tug to ensure it was secure, then stood. She applied a basic BB cream with sunscreen to her face at the mirror, then turned to Sandor.

“Shit, I forgot to set my coffee maker to brew last night.”

“Why would you have wanted coffee last night?”

Sansa laughed. “No, I always set it on a delay timer to brew at 6, so it’ll be ready by the time I leave.”

She went downstairs, Sandor following, and set a pot to brew. It might make her a little late, but she refused to start her day without coffee. “You want some? I have an extra to-go cup I can loan you.”

“That’s all right, I don’t really like coffee.”

Sansa gasped as she took down the one tumbler, mixing in some cream and sugar. “Don’t like coffee? I mean, I guess that just means more for me, but what kind of weirdo doesn’t like coffee?”

Sandor scoffed. “No, I’m not a fan of bitter bean water, so sue me.”

Sansa laughed. “Well, do you want anything? I just have a protein bar for breakfast.”

“Seriously? How can you work all morning, as hard as you do, on a little protein bar?” Sandor inspected her cabinet and took down a few pieces of bread, slotting them into the toaster.

“I can’t dance when I’m all full of bread! I’ll have a fairly big lunch, and I think you’ve seen I can eat a fairly big dinner, but breakfast is just not one of the things I go in for. Too much early in the morning doesn’t sit well.”

Sandor buttered his toast when it popped and Sansa filled up her coffee cup. Sandor wolfed down the toast faster than Sansa would have thought possible, and they were out the door, Sansa with her dance bag, Sandor with his overnight duffle. Sansa locked up after them, and they started off to the ballet studio.

The morning was a little crisper than it had been previously, Sandor wondered aloud if autumn had finally arrived. Sansa sipped her coffee as Sandor examined her nearly bare legs and tank top.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asked, hands shoved in his pockets.

Sansa shook her head. “I don’t know why, I hardly ever get cold. Arya says I walk too fast, I outrun the cold.”

“You do walk pretty fast. I thought I was a speed-walker, but you put me to shame.”

Sansa threw the wrapper for her protein bar in a trash can as she passed it, then took a few more deep draughts of her coffee.

“So, what’s your plan for today?” Sandor asked, as the ballet studio came in sight.

“I was thinking about dancing, but I don’t know. I’ll play it by ear,” she joked, then saw his face was serious. “Kidding. What do you mean?”

Sandor’s face turned a slightly pink shade. “I mean us. It’s your job, I don’t want to mess things up for you. And walking in together, with an overnight bag. I heard they way they gossiped about you and Baelish, I just don’t want to embarrass you.”

Sansa grabbed Sandor’s hand as they waited at a red light. He turned to look at her, his face cool and blank, but Sansa could see the smallest bit of turmoil behind his front, in the press of his lips and the furrow of his brow. “I’m not embarrassed by you. I don’t care what anyone thinks. I thought maybe you wouldn’t want everyone to know. I mean, you know Baelish is not going to be happy when he hears.”

Sandor smiled, and Sansa was relieved to see his mouth and brows relax as the light changed and they stepped out into the crosswalk. “Ah, that’d be a bonus for me. But I don’t want it to be a bother to you.”

“Well, maybe we’ll just keep it on the down-low, if that’s all right with you?” Sansa said as they approached the side entrance to the studio. “It’s nobody’s business but our own, right?”

Sandor nodded. “Fucking right.”

He held the door open for Sansa, who gave him a small smile and headed back to the locker room to get changed, while Sandor headed to the main rehearsal room. Sansa noticed the locker room was bare as she walked back to her dressing room. She wondered if the corps had the day off or something. That usually only happened when-

 _Bloody hell_ , she thought when she saw the light was on in the dressing room between Olenna’s office and Sansa’s dressing room. That could only mean one thing: Cersei fucking Lannister.

Olenna’s office door was open, and Sansa could see Cersei towering over Olenna’s desk, at her considerable height, clearly reading the dancing instructor the riot act. Olenna clearly did not seem too concerned. To compensate for Cersei’s height, and to be able to look her in the eye without craning her head back, Olenna had leaned back in her chair, and sat with her feet comfortably propped on the desk, gazing up at Cersei unconcernedly. The sight made Sansa almost want to giggle, but she suppressed it and tried to tiptoe past as quietly as she could, she would do nothing to risk the notice of the Lioness.

Luck was not with her that morning, however. Perhaps Sansa had made more noise than she thought, or a tic of Olenna’s eye towards the door had tipped Cersei off, or maybe the bitch just had fucking ESP or eyes in the back of her head. Whatever the reason, Cersei whirled towards the door, hitting Sansa with the full-force of her glare. It was all Sansa could do not to quail under the ferocity of that gaze.

“Morning Miss Lannister,” she managed to calmly say.

Cersei leaned over to catch the edge of the door, and slammed it so hard, Sansa heard a picture fall off the wall and shatter.

If Sansa thought Cersei had been loud, it was nothing compared to Olenna. Sansa listened outside of the door for a moment, hearing the scrape of Olenna’s chair across the concrete floor, the first salvo of a real lung-busting shouting match: “That does it, you think you can come in here and slam doors around?” Sansa hurried away to her own dressing room before Olenna kicked Cersei out of the office, which might be any second now. She fished the keys out of her bag, and let herself into her own dressing room, shutting the door quietly behind her and locking it with a sigh.

She looked around the tiny room with a sigh of satisfaction. She’d barely had time to do more than a quick-change last Friday, since Sandor was waiting for her. She looked around and took a moment to appreciate it. It was little more than a closet, but it was all hers. Facing the door, a mirror was surrounded by soft yellow lightbulbs, looking like it belonged backstage at a Broadway show from the ‘40s. A small dressing table stood beneath it, really just a slab of Formica, though someone had covered it in pretty marble contact paper, so it had a little touch of class. Then there was a simple wooden stool, and a bench that could fold down out from under the dressing table, for warm-ups or a quick work-over by the physical therapist, in case of strained muscles. It was no bigger than Sansa’s closet at home, but it was all hers, and she adored it.

She set her bag on the table and unpacked it. She thought with pleasure that she could finally leave a few things at the studio instead of having to haul them back and forth in her bag. She took out a tube of deodorant, the current _pointe_ shoes she was wearing and the spares she could change into as needed, a file she used to break in _pointe_ shoes and a sewing kit for making small repairs to them. She changed into her green leotard and grey skirt, laced up her pointe shoes, then grabbed her towel, water bottle, phone, and her dressing room key, which she’d threaded onto a rubber bracelet she could wear on her wrist, then left the dressing room, turning out the lights and locking the door behind her.

The corridor was blessedly empty. Sansa cast a wary glance both directions, then made her way to the water fountain to fill up her bottle. For Olenna’s sake, she’d left her coffee mug in the dressing room, but they were allowed to have as much water as they wanted in rehearsal.

Sansa spotted Margaery and Jeyne talking at the fountain. Margaery smiled at Sansa as she approached, a big toothy grin. “Sansa! How was your weekend?” She asked, effectively cutting off her conversation with Jeyne.

Sansa smiled amiably as she filled up her water bottle and made small talk, though she wanted to shove Jeyne against the wall and demand to know if she’d been the one spreading rumors about Sansa and Petyr. It might feel satisfying in the moment, but Sansa knew it would just give her a reputation for being difficult, so she plastered on a smile instead, made nice.

“Where is everyone? Did they dismiss the corps?”

“For a few days, at least,” Margaery confirmed. They need the bigger rehearsal room for the Lioness. She’s starting rehearsals for The Nutcracker today, and she likes that bigger room better. After this week, they’ll alternate days, rehearsing Swan Lake and Nutcracker.”

Sansa sipped at her water, momentarily distracted by a young woman entering from the street. Sansa didn’t think she’d ever seen the woman before, though she was entering through the door the dancers used. She was quite beautiful, petite and well-muscled, walking with a fluid movement that proclaimed her dancer’s background. She had fair hair, almost white, that was pulled back from her face in an intricate braid, though her skin was surprisingly tanned for one so fair-haired. Her eyes landed on Sansa, who saw with surprise they were violet in color. The girl was thoroughly beautiful, dressed in jeans, black trainers, and a black T-shirt. She smiled at Sansa.

“Hi! I’m new. Dany.” She held her hand out and Sansa shook it, introducing herself and the other two dancers.

“Is there a place where I can change?”

Sansa pointed to the locker room, checking her phone as she did. “Are you here for Nutcracker?”

“Swan Lake.”

Sansa exchanged surprised looks with Margaery. “Best hurry. Olenna starts promptly at 8. Don’t want to get on her bad side!’

Dany agreed and rushed for the dressing room. Sansa turned to eye Margaery. “What part is she playing? Thought they were all done casting for Swan?”

Margaery shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m going in.” Margaery and Jeyne headed toward the rehearsal room, but Sansa hesitated. “You coming?”

“I just remembered the Lioness. I’m going to go tell Dany which rehearsal room we’re in, so she doesn’t accidentally run afoul of two divas in the same day.”

Margaery tutted softly. “You’re too sweet, I would have left her for the wolves.”

Sansa headed to the locker rooms, while Margaery and Jeyne continued into the rehearsal room. Sansa scanned the rows of empty lockers, finally found Dany at the end. The young woman was standing with her back towards Sansa, pulling up a silver colored leotard that coordinated well with her hair. But it was Dany’s bare back that transfixed Sansa, namely the huge dragon tattoo that started at the woman’s right hip, with the tail, and swelled into body and wings over her back, ending in the dragon’s head that rested on Dany’s left shoulder. It was beautiful and must have taken years to complete.

Dany finished pulling on the leotard, and turned to look at Sansa over her shoulder. Sansa blushed.

“Sorry, I just wanted to warn you. There’re two rehearsal rooms, we’re in the smaller one. It’s on your left as you leave the locker room. The other one is currently housing our _prima ballerina_ and trust me, you don’t want to cross her path if you can help it.”

Dany folded her clothes into the locker, gave Sansa a grateful smile. “I appreciate you telling me. Not everyone would.”

“Of course. Do you mind if I ask-”

“Understudy. For Odette.”

Sansa smiled. “Oh, of course. That’s me, by the way. I’m Odette.”

Dany slid the lock closed, shouldered her bag. “Very nice to meet you. Though I knew that, of course.”

Sansa looked surprised as she started to walk out with Dany. “Did you?”

“Of course. Petyr mentioned your name when he interviewed me.”

Sansa nodded. “Well, I just want you to know, I’m really nice, and I’m not going to try to do something horrible to you, as long as you’re nice to me.”

Dany giggled as they made their way to the rehearsal room. “Agreed. No pushing down stairs or poisonings!”

They opened the doors, and Olenna turned towards them. “You’re late, Miss Stark, Miss Storm.”

“Sorry, that’s my fault,” Sansa explained, going to place her towel and things down by the edge of the room. “I was giving Dany a quick tour.”

Olenna nodded. “I’ll forgive you since it’s your first day. Everyone, this is Dany. She’s the new understudy for Odette. Where do you come from, what school? I heard it was abroad.”

“London, ma’am.”

Olenna chuckled as Dany sat to begin lacing up her shoes. Sansa and the rest of the dancers went to the barre to begin warming up. “None of that, thank you. Olenna will do, I don’t stand on ceremony.”

Sansa couldn’t help glancing to Sandor, who was sitting at the piano like always, though Sansa noticed with gratification that he was looking much less forbidding and severe than he normally did. He was playing something light and lilting, too, different from his usual love of all things heavy and baroque during warmup. It was strange, to be in the same place as last week, her at the barre, him at the piano, and yet everything between them had changed. Not just physically, though she could still remember how his arms felt around her waist, how his stubble scratched her neck, but how they felt about each other. Sandor caught Sansa looking at him, and she swerved her gaze away with a little smile. She turned on the barre to face the opposite direction to warm up her other side, caught Sandor’s reflection in the far mirror. He was gazing down at the keys, suppressing a small smile on his face as well.

Dany stood, shoes secured, and went to stand at the barre a few feet ahead of Sansa. Even _en pointe_ , Dany only came up to Sansa’s shoulder. Sansa watched the young woman’s warmup, admiring her grace and beauty. If Petyr had wanted to shake Sansa up with his understudy selection, he had chosen well. It was just the kind of thing Petyr would do. Hadn’t Sansa been Cersei’s understudy for years now? Hadn’t the point of that been to serve notice to the prima, that her days were numbered?

Petyr had miscalculated, though. Sansa was savvy to that play, had expected it. Why else had he delayed so long in selecting an understudy? And an outside hire for the position, instead of one of any number of girls in the corps who would have done the job handily? It wasn’t hard, understudying, as Sansa could attest. You attended all the rehearsals, stood in for the lead at times, learned her part, got to do a few dress rehearsals, and a few matinees with a live audience. It was an honor, and a necessity when lead ballerinas could be struck by any number of small injuries that would render them unable to perform for a few nights. At the peak of performing season, a prima ballerina might be performing up to six times a week, not counting other little galas and workshops. It was tough on the body, and days off would become a thing of the past. Soon, Sansa knew she would be dying to let Dany perform on her stead.

That was what Petyr didn’t understand, Sansa thought as she stepped away from the barre, began warming up with _pirouettes_ , _jettes_ , and _grand pas_. They were all a team, though she might not like some of them, and you had your bad seeds like Jeyne fucking Poole. For the most part, though, the dancer’s all supported each other and rivalries like Olenna and Cersei’s were rare. Even that was more attributable to Cersei fucking Lannister being a huge bitch than to any behavior on Olenna’s part. Olenna simply gave back what she got in kind.

Olenna allowed them a few more minutes of warming up so Dany could get a little extra time. After a few minutes, Dany went to join the others, just Sansa and the four dancers in the _pas de quatre_ , at the edge of the room.

“Sansa, let’s run through your solo in Act II so Dany can get a sense of what we’ve worked on so far. It’s the traditional choreography, but the blocking may be a little different than you’re used to, Dany. We’re also working for a different tone in some places with facial expression and movement, so I want you to watch closely for that.”

The dancers sat down, behind Sansa, facing the large mirror, where they would be able to see Sansa’s reflection. Sansa went into position for the same piece she had auditioned with, open fourth position. She turned her head to face Sandor and nodded. As the music began, Sansa leapt into her dance, marveling at the muscle memory she had developed since she’d first performed this piece for her audition. She hardly even had to think about it now, and executed two more _pirouettes_ on the final turning pass than she had on her audition, Sandor watching her closely. He would repeat the single measure of music while she spun, until she stopped, his queue to play the final measure that would end the piece.

When she stopped dancing, Sandor played the final measure, but for the first time since she’d known him, he played a wrong note. It was like a glass had shattered in the rehearsal space. Heads turned sharply towards the piano. Sansa couldn’t help but giggle at the solemnity of the moment, though she stifled the sound at the sight of his face. He was aghast at his mistake, scowling down at the piano keys like they were somehow to blame.

Olenna cleared her throat as Sansa dropped from _en pointe_ to stand flat on her feet, in the slightly pigeon-toed position that _pointe_ shoes necessitated. She walked back to the far side of the room as Olenna approached the piano. Sansa heard the dance instructor ask Sandor in a low tone if everything was alright.

“Fine,” he grunted. Olenna turned back to the principals.

“Excellent, Sansa. Good form, light feet, impeccable turns. Lovely expression, just lovely. Dany, show us the same piece, please.”

Sansa sat, as Dany took her position. She divided her attention between Dany’s dancing, which Sansa admired for its beauty and grace, and Sandor’s face, which she watched in the reflection of the mirror. She was thoroughly distracted by his solemn expression, the movement of his strong hands over the keys, but nodded appreciatively when Dany was done dancing, agreeing with Olenna’s pronouncement that Dany’s dancing was “spirited, expressive, wishful.”

Sansa watched for most of the rest of the morning. Olenna ran through the _pas de quatre_ with the other dancers, while Sansa and Dany faced another mirror, running through the basic blocking for the solos. At 10, they stopped for a break.

“I’m going outside,” Sansa told Dany.

“Are you going to smoke?” the blonde asked. “May I come too?”

Sansa smiled, although she’d hoped on going alone so she could talk to Sandor. She settled for sending a text as she left the room, showing Dany back to the dumpsters.

To Sandor: **All morning, I’ve just wanted to come over to that bench and sit on your cock.**

She sent the message, then stepped outside. Sandor was already outside, of course. He had just pulled out his phone to look at his texts. He grinned when he saw her, though it subsided when he saw Dany behind her. The vanishing of his smile made her stomach drop, though, so before he could say anything, she marched over, popped up on tiptoe and kissed him soundly. Nothing lewd or distasteful, just a quick, chaste kiss.

She grinned at the surprised expression on his face as she lowered back down. “Can I have a cigarette?”

He nodded and gave her one, his dark eyes on hers as she held his hand as he lit it. She smiled, letting go of his hand. “This is Sandor,” she turned to include Dany in the conversation.

He leaned over to shake her hand. Dany smiled at him as she lit her own cigarette. “You play very well. How long have you two been going out?”

Sansa laughed as Sandor looked away, a little uncomfortable. “Not long,” Sansa said with a smile.

They made small talk while they smoked, Sandor didn’t say much. Sansa offered to take Dany out for lunch later, and Dany accepted, gratefully. She threw her cigarette away, then turned to go back inside.

“I’ll catch up with you,” Sansa said, then turned to Sandor and pushed him back against the wall, throwing her cigarette away as she devoured his mouth, one hand reaching up to comb through his hair. Sandor chuckled against her mouth.

“Lasted all of two hours, then?” he said, pulling back with a grin.

“You should know I have no self-control,” Sansa replied breathily, before pressing her mouth to his again, her tongue darting in to lap against his. Sandor set his hands against her waist, pulling her body into his. They froze at the sound of a small cough from the door.

Sansa broke the kiss, turning to look over her shoulder. Petyr stood in the doorway, mouth frozen in a polite smile that did not reach his eyes.

“Sansa, dear. Olenna’s looking for you.”

He turned to go, and Sansa turned back to Sandor with a giggle. “Fuck,” she whispered with a grimace.

Sandor shrugged, and pulled her back to him, mouth skimming over her lips. “Let him wait a little longer,” he said with a chuckle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really proofread this at all, so if it's full of errors, I apologize. Hope you enjoy something smut-free for a change!
> 
> Also, Petyr, boo! Yes, he's going to be causing trouble for SanSan, cause he's a bastard.
> 
> Hope you liked it! Thanks for everyone's nice comments, I really appreciate them!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is fallout from Petyr's discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I've been experiencing everyone's favorite writer's block. This is a shorter chapter, but I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Good news is, I know exactly where I want the story to go, just having trouble getting it out, so bear with me!

Sandor leaned his head back against the brick wall later that afternoon. This had started as one of the best days, and was quickly shaping up into the shittiest. He ought to have known Sansa wouldn’t take the conversation about secrecy seriously.

Well, that wasn’t exactly fair. She hadn’t made any promises, and neither had he. And in an ideal world, it wouldn’t be anybody’s fucking business who she was fucking. But that was too much to expect from the world, clearly. Or at least from that cunt Baelish.

Sandor’s lip curled as he took another drag of his cigarette. Sandor could handle the fallout on his side, but if that fucker went after Sansa, tried to hurt her career or reputation in any way… let’s just say Sandor knew a few people who wouldn’t ask questions if he called them up and asked them to bring their baseball bats.

He heard the door to the back entrance clang open, and Sansa came striding out. She spotted him at the end of the little alley, out by the street, and she burst into a warm smile. She had her bag slung over her shoulder, had changed back into her tank top and skirt. His eyes skimmed down her long legs, at her long red hair pulled back into a ponytail that swung behind her, reminding him of a cat he had known as a boy, a ginger tabby that used to sit on the wall that surrounded his mother’s garden, how his tail would hang down, twitching back and forth when the old Tom was feeling watchful and content.

He couldn’t help breaking into a smile as she approached, her own sunny mood infectious. He put out his cigarette as she approached, threw it in a trash can, then took her hand, bending his head to peck her on the lips.

“What happened to you? I didn’t see you all afternoon,” he asked, one hand cupping the back of her neck. It felt so good to have her near: the touch of her skin and the sight of her face was such a balm to his weathered nerves.

“Oh, I had a costume fitting and then a photo shoot for the posters. They’re supposed to be going up this week.”

“Want to get something to eat? I’m famished, and you can tell me all about it.” He really shouldn’t be spending money, but he didn’t want to part from her yet.

Sansa grinned and nodding, leading the way to a little diner she knew. Sandor was relieved when they arrived to see that it was a hole-in-the-wall, so not expensive.

“Hope you don’t mind that it’s a little rundown. They have the best food, promise!”

Sandor shrugged, told her he didn’t mind at all. The hostess led them to a booth, distractedly set down menus and left, “Server’ll-be-right-witcha,” she murmured as she left, each word running into the next.

“They’re just now doing the publicity? Thought that would have been done long ago,” Sandor commented as he examined the menu.

“They did some initial publicity over the summer with my headshot, this is for the new campaign. Oh, and I got my free passes.” She dug in her bag and handed him two vouchers. “For you and Shae.”

Sandor slipped the two passes in between the pages of his book, stowing it carefully back into his bag as the server came back to take their food and drink order. Sansa ordered a lemonade and turkey club, then Sandor ordered a cheese burger. “Just water, please,” he added, handing the young woman his menu.

Sansa told him about the costume with animated eyes, showing him a few pictures she’d managed to take with her phone. “Had to sneak these in when Petyr left so I could change. I’m technically not supposed to have them.” She’d only managed to get pictures of the black costume, tight and short and low-cut. She described the white costume, with a long white flowy skirt, very gauzy and traditional.

“I think it might be the exact skirt I used to dream about dancing in as a little girl,” she gushed right as their food arrived.

“I bet you were cute, little five-year-old ginger in a tutu.”

Sansa colored sweetly as she tucked into her club sandwich, and Sandor grinned.

“I bet your mum took a million pictures, too.”

She smiled and nodded, finished chewing her bite of food, then grinned. “Felt like a billion.”

And the thought came unbidden to his mind: _God, I could love this woman._ It ought to have shocked him, but honestly, the thought was so quiet, had slipped into his consciousness so stealthily, that by the time he was aware of the thought, it had already made itself at home, like a cat curled up in front of the hearth.

She told him about the photo shoot next, how they did one for the white swan and one for the black, the white swan in delicate, angelic makeup, the dark swan with a streak of grey makeup across her eyes, little black feathers glued to the skin at her temples.

“Glue, doesn’t that hurt like hell when they take it off?”

“Not really, it’s special for your skin. They don’t just super-glue it on there. But yes, I’m sure by the end of the run, I’ll be glad to be rid of it!”

After dinner, which Sansa insisted on paying for, over Sandor’s strenuous objections.

“You paid for burgers and the drinks on Friday. I can get the tab every once in a while.”

Sandor knew better than to keep arguing when he was beaten, so he let Sansa hand the waitress two twenties, and insist she didn’t need change back. As they stood to go, Sansa asked if she could walk him to the subway.

They stood behind the stairs down to the station, Sandor with his hands encircling Sansa’s waist, her arms around his neck, kissing her goodbye like a school boy dropping her off back home after a date to the movies. People passed them by, but no one spoke to them, everyone was engrossed in their own business. Sansa deepened her kiss, pulling him into her in a way that made his cock stiffen. He groaned into her mouth.

“Stop that, vixen,” he said with a grin as he pulled back.

“Text me when you get home?” she asked, leaning back to look at him.

“Does that mean I can’t text on the train?” he replied, leaning in for a quick kiss.

“Of course not,” she grinned.

He checked his watch and groaned. “I should go, or I’ll miss it.”

Sansa gave him one more peck. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sandor leaned forward for one more kiss. “Fine. I’m going.”

Sansa giggled as he turned, waited for a break in the traffic, then entered the stream of travelers headed down the stairs.

As Sandor waited for the train, he felt a little pang of guilt. He knew he should have told her, but she’d been having such a good day, he didn’t want to spoil her mood. Besides, he still had time.

All week, Sandor bargained with his better nature, saying he still had time, there was no rush. Tuesday turned into Wednesday, into Thursday, and he still had not told her, despite numerous opportunities. They had lunch almost every day after Monday, except on Thursday, when Sansa took a little trip with Dany and the quartet (what Sandor called the pas de quatre) to find one of Sansa’s posters for Swan Lake. They posed and took pictures they posted to Instagram, which Sandor did not see because he didn’t use social media, but Sansa told him about it later.

He himself had seen one of her pictures on the subway. While stopped at the 7th Avenue station, Sandor looked up to see Sansa staring at him from outside the window, en pointe, wearing a white leotard and the fluffy, gauzy skirt she’d been so excited about, a circlet of white feathers around her head. Her hair cascaded down her back in scarlet curls, and Sansa gazed at him over her left shoulders, arms up above her head, looking demurely, and at the same time seductively, into the camera. This had been Wednesday, and Sandor had pulled out his phone and managed to snap a picture before the train began to move again.

He sent it to Sansa with a text: **Saw you in the subway today _,_** to which Sansa responded with no less than twenty-five emojis, which made him chuckle.

Worst of all, he’d even stayed over at her place Wednesday night. All night he wanted to talk to her, but he was so happy with her, he didn’t want to ruin it. A little part of him, at the back of his mind, the part that was always waiting for the other shoe, said he might as well enjoy the time now, why make her worry when she didn’t have to.

Besides, the farther into the week it got, the more guilty he felt that he hadn’t told her sooner, and the time seemed to build and build. How could he tell her on Tuesday, how would he explain why he hadn’t told her Monday after work? How would he explain on Thursday why he had stayed over on Wednesday, made love to her twice and slept in her bed, and neglected to mention what had happened on Monday? So he carried the guilt and the burden with him for four long days.

On Friday, though, he knew he’d made a mistake when Sansa met him out by the dumpsters, dressed for their date, but with arms crossed and a stern expression on her face.

“Why didn’t you tell me Petyr fired you?”

His face fell, and his gaze fell to the floor. “I know I should have. He told me on Monday to finish out the week. I just didn’t want you to worry!” he protested as Sansa began to interrupt him.

“Monday! Sandor, how could you? I had to find out from Margaery, that tart? She looked so superior because she knew something about my- about you that I didn’t know.”

“I was worried you would think it was your fault. I wasn’t going to tell you until I got good news about a new position.”

“I don’t think it’s my fault, I know whose fault it is. That prick Petyr. Which is why I’m going to beat the fuck out of him.” She turned towards the door, but Sandor caught her by the waist, pulling her back against him.

“Easy there. No sense in both of us getting fired. Come on, let me buy you a drink to apologize.”

Sansa turned towards him, within the circle of his arms. “I’m still mad at you,” she told him sternly, although she belied her words by wrapping her arms around his neck.

Sandor sighed, looking deeply into her eyes. “I’m really sorry, Sansa. You were so happy, I didn’t want to bother you.”

Sansa smiled softly. “It’s not a bother. I want to know what’s going on with you. Even if it’s bad.” She pulled him down to her and kissed him deeply.

“Now I want my drink,” she said as she leaned back. “Although…” she smiled, drawing her fingers through his hair. “I do have drinks at home.”

Sandor chuckled, leaning forward to kiss her deeply. “Aye, that’s true. I’ll let you buy me a drink, then.”

After a few drinks, and a quick dinner of chicken and rice, Sansa steered them upstairs to the bedroom. They fucked quickly and efficiently, the kind of sex Sandor had never really had before, intimate in its familiarity and brevity. The thought that he could have satisfying and deeply passionate sex with one woman indefinitely, this one woman, and afterwards lay in each other’s arms, fall asleep next to the same person every night for the rest of his life. It had never been a thought that appealed to Sandor before, but as Sansa rolled over onto her side, instinctively raising her arm to let Sandor’s slip around her waist, he knew he could want nothing more.

Just before he drifted off, he remembered what Sansa had said in the alley, about Margaery. What had Sansa said: “she looked so superior because she knew something about my- about you.” Sandor smiled to himself as he leaned forward, nuzzling his nose against the back of her neck, inhaling her unique scent. What had she been about to say before she changed her mind?


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor make plans for their Saturday, Sansa meets Aunt Lysa and the boys at Arya's fencing meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! My writing mojo has been missing in action for the last month. Hopefully this is a sign of its triumphant return!

Sansa awoke with the funny feeling that she was not where she was supposed to be. She didn’t open her eyes right away, but she stretched her arms and legs a bit, trying to figure out what it was about her situation that seemed off. She could feel the soft bed and sheets beneath her, a pillow beneath her head, the comforter over her legs and torso, but under her arm, just like she normally slept, so that was all normal. She was snuggled against a large form that was warm, sold, furry, her cheek pressed against him, probably his chest, since she could hear his heartbeat. But she’d woken up a few times with Sandor before, and she knew it was his scent. So that couldn’t be it.

Finally, Sansa acknowledged that she was wide awake and her brain wouldn’t let her rest until she unraveled this mystery, so she opened her eyes. She was gazing up at the ceiling, and it was the same ceiling she’d seen every morning upon waking for the last seven-odd years. But the geography was off, she was much closer to the bathroom than usual. She looked up at Sandor, to find him looking down at her, a small smirk on his face.

“Morning,” he drawled, smirk widening to a grin. As Sansa raised her head to ease a crick in her neck, she saw what was so funny.

Behind her, there was a good three feet between her body and the other edge of the bed, the side she normally slept on. Between Sandor, who was flush against her with no space between them, and the edge of the bed was a scant few inches. Sometime in the night, she’d rolled over to cuddle with Sandor, and had never rolled back.

She smiled up at Sandor, then shrugged her shoulders. “Oops.”

“You know you have the whole bed to sleep in, right?” Sandor gestured towards the yards of empty king-sized bed behind her. “There’s an acre of bed behind you.”

Sansa giggled and scooted closer to Sandor, hiking her leg up over his hips, pulling his hips into hers. “But I want to cuddle with you. The real question is why you were running away from me.” She fake-pouted, pushing out her lower lip. “Didn’t you want to cuddle with me?”

Sandor chuckled, low and deep, as Sansa felt his erection stir against her. “Cuddling is nice. Room to stretch out is also nice.”

As Sansa leaned forward to kiss him, Sandor pushed her backwards, turning to lay on top of her, weight propped on his elbows and knees. “You’ll have all the room you like when you’re beneath me,” she whispered.

Sansa pushed him to the side, and he rolled with her, until he was on his back in the middle of the bed, Sansa lying on top of him, her tongue dancing with his. Eventually she pushed up to a sitting position, eyeing his swollen cock lightly bobbing for a moment against her thigh.

She let her eyes wander down his length, from the thick base to the swollen head, a bead of fluid gathered at the tip. She reached out her hand, but it ended up settling on his thigh instead of his cock, squeezing the muscle as she let out a small sigh.

“You going to just stare at it all day?” Sandor’s voice broke through her reverie.

Sansa smirked as she ran her hand down his thigh, fingers lightly brushing against the dark hair of his leg. “Maybe I will, would serve you right.”

She drew her hand up his side, fingers lightly caressing his skin. He squirmed slightly.

“Knock it off,” he warned, his voice a low growl that made Sansa shiver.

She dragged her hand higher, just under his armpit, and deliberately tickled him, fingers digging into his skin for a few seconds. Sandor responded instinctively, jumping underneath her, then with a snarl, he pulled Sansa close to him, and flipped her over, pinning her hands to the bed above her head. She could feel his cock pressing into her thigh, and barely suppressed a shiver of desire.

“Little minx,” he murmured, his eyes raking over her face. “I ought to tie you to the bed and lick you til you scream my name.”

Sansa felt like the bottom had fallen out of her stomach, as she felt a fresh wave of arousal wash over her. Sandor shifted his thigh between her legs, rubbing against her cunt with a wet, smacking sound. He grunted in approval.

“You like that idea, do you?” He leaned forward and kissed her, his mouth surprisingly tender against hers, after such a dirty proposition.

She nodded as he leaned back from the simple, almost chaste peck he’d given her. “Yes, I liked that- I would like it- oh” she stammered, ending in a moan as Sandor rubbed his thigh against her again, dragging against her clit this time, creating a maddening friction.

“And after you’ve come so many times you’ve lost track, I’ll fuck you til you walk funny. Would you like that?” His voice was so low and quiet, Sansa had to try to quiet her gasps to hear him.

“Fuck, yes, please. What are you waiting for?” She panted again as Sandor dragged his thigh against her again. She moaned in dismay when he let her hands go, burying his hands for a moment in her hair and kissing her deeply. When he broke the kiss, he leaned over to the nightstand and retrieved a condom. He tilted her phone to wake up the home screen, checking the time on the display.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have time to do the thing proper right now. Just time for a quick fuck.”

Sansa hummed in annoyance. “You’re such a tease. Can’t you just tell the kids to fuck off and stay here and fuck me?”

Sandor laughed, nuzzling and nipping at her neck. “Wish I could, but I’m already light on income at the moment. Those little brats are good for 80 bucks a pop.” He leaned back, pushing up to his knees, towering over her as he fisted his erection.

“Besides, I’m the one who’s going to have to go listen to those little fucks make a hash out of Fur Elise while all I can think of is you tied up and begging for it.” He tore open the condom packet while Sansa laughed, dropping her pouty pretense as she watched Sandor unroll the condom over his cock.

“Serves you right,” she shot back, but let her tough exterior melt away when Sandor drew his thumb gently over her clit, moaning softly and rolling her hips into the contact.

“So responsive,” Sandor murmured, his eyes full and his lips quirked up on one side. To her surprise, Sansa felt herself blushing, and Sandor’s grin broadened. He slipped two fingers inside of her, thumb still making lazy circles over her clit. Sansa let out a shaky breath, felt her walls constrict around Sandor’s fingers. He groaned and stroked her a few seconds more, before withdrawing and crouching above her, pulling her legs up to cling to his hips.

“You’re just about ready to go off, aren’t you?” he murmured as he guided his cock to her entrance.

She nodded, biting her lower lip as Sandor pushed inside of her. Sandor crouched above her, balanced on his elbows, kissing her long and slow as he eased inside of her, until Sansa was completely full. She tilted her head back as Sandor nibbled down her neck, grinding his hips into hers, dragging his pelvis across her clit. Her hand flew to his hips, pushing him harder against her, crying out with pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m close,” she panted, her other hand reaching up to cup the back of his neck, his head dropping to her right, the right side of his cheek slightly scratchy against hers. He moaned into her neck, and Sansa found herself choking back a gasp of surprise, the feeling of his scarred skin against hers more intimate than any sexual act. He’d always turned his head to her left when they embraced, presented her with the smooth side.

He pushed his hips back, then forward, thrusting into her, letting his hips drag against hers again. She cried out at the friction.

“Is that the spot, _eun beag_? Are you going to sing for me?” he rasped, thrusting faster now.

“Yes,” she gave a throaty cry. Her grip on the small of his back tightened, urging him to quicken his pace. She came shortly after, but instead of slowing down, Sandor increased his pace, and soon Sansa’s orgasm bloomed into a greater pleasure, not another orgasm exactly, but a stronger release that pulsed through her, leaving her gasping and clinging to Sandor’s shoulders, as he finished with a jerk.

He lingered inside of her for a few minutes afterward, and she felt her walls shudder and clench around him. She felt a flood of warmth and affection as Sandor planted whisper-soft kisses against her neck and cheeks. Sansa grinned, dragging her fingers up his side until he flinched, hissing sharply in her ear.

“Damnit, woman,” he growled, making Sansa giggle. Then he was up on his knees, cock pulling from her with a slick popping noise, hands roving over her sides, and she let out an undignified squeal as he began to tickle her ferociously. She doubled over, shrieking and laughing until she was out of breath, trying to pry away Sandor’s hands. Finally, she gave up, reaching up to pull him back down to her, capturing his mouth and wrapping her arms around his neck. Now Sandor had to use his hands to prop himself up instead of tickling her.

“You trying to distract me, little bird?” Sandor growled against her mouth. Sansa responded by nipping lightly at his lower-lip.

“Maybe,” she murmured. Sandor pushed up with a final smack, checking his phone. He sighed and leaned his head against her neck.

“I’ve got to go soon.”

Sansa nodded and Sandor pushed up, giving one last peck on her cheek before padding into the bathroom. Sansa sat up to enjoy the view of his round ass walking away, letting out a small wolf-whistle. Sandor reached back and slapped his ass before disappearing into the bathroom, chased by her giggles.

Sansa stood and started to dress, just a pair of underwear and a tank-top until she could get her turn in the bathroom. She leaned on the counter, brushing her teeth, as she waited for Sandor to finish. When he came out, he grinned at Sansa, nudging her playfully as he walked past her to wash his hands, dropping a sweet kiss on her shoulder. Sansa smiled to herself as she leaned over to rinse her mouth.

“When are you done with lessons?” she asked, rinsing her toothbrush and placing it back in the holder as Sandor reached for his. It was a little thing, but she loved the sight of his toothbrush next to hers in the little cup.

“Two PM. Why?”

“Would you want to come to Rickon’s soccer game? Arya and Bran will be there with Aunt Lysa. Maybe come to family dinner after, too?”

Sandor glanced over at her; eyes wide. He turned back and finished squeezing toothpaste out onto the brush. “You really want me to?” he asked, a slight hesitation in his voice.

Sansa smiled at him fondly, leaning forward to wrap her arms around his waist, snuggling her cheek against his back. “Of course I do!”

Sandor shook his head as he began to brush. “I dunno. What are they going to think of me?” he asked, words slightly muffled by the toothbrush.

“I’m sure they’ll like you. Well,” she chuckled, leaning away so she could see him better, “honestly, Bran and Rickon probably won’t care that much. But Arya and Aunt Lysa’ll love you. You’ve already caught Arya’s eye,” she said with a giggle.

Sandor chuckled. “All right, I’ll go. Can’t say no to you, can I?”

“Good!” Sansa grinned as she headed into the toilet.

After Sansa bid Sandor good-bye, with lots of deep kisses and groping and giggles, Sandor headed out, and Sansa had to leave shortly after to head over to Arya’s fencing meet at NYU. It was a warm, sunny day, so Sansa had opted for a pair of jeans and a plain blue T-shirt. She chose a pair of comfortable canvas shoes that she could walk in, since she would be on her feet for most of the days. She added to it a large silver purse and a pair of black sunglasses.

 **Are you close?** She received a text from Aunt Lysa, and replied back that she was only a few minutes away. She found Aunt Lysa standing outside the NYU rec center, wearing a light jacket, her short black hair studded with silver, sticking up in Lysa’s signature spiky do that Sansa secretly adored, but loved to tease Lysa about. Bran and Rickon were standing nearby, casual in jeans and T-shirts, all their clothes bearing that slightly shrunk appearance that signified growing boys. Lysa greeted Sansa with a half-hug and a peck, her other hand holding onto a tumbler of hot tea.

“Oh, Sansa darling, how nice to see you! Don’t you look pretty today? One hardly notices those little baggies under your eyes. Not sleeping?” Lysa didn’t bother to wait for an answer, turning with a twinkle in her eye to herd Bran and Rickon inside.

Sansa followed, suppressing a grin at her aunt’s barb about lack of sleep. She was sure the seemingly innocuous comment was some kind of reference to Sandor. She couldn’t even find it in her to be surprised anymore: Aunt Lysa always seemed to know everything.

“When did Arya tell you?” she asked, falling into step next to Lysa, shooting her a sideways glance.

“Tell me what, dearest?” Lysa asked, and Sansa couldn’t help but be impressed at her aunt’s even tone and look of genuine surprise.

“Just going to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about?”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t know. I just thought you looked a bit peaky, that’s all. You still look lovely, don’t fret. You’re practically glowing! Look at you, cheeks all flushed and rosy. Picture of health, aren’t you?”

Lysa continued prattling on as they headed into the main gymnasium. The huge space had been converted into four fencing strips, surrounded by raised bleachers. Lysa led the way, Sansa and the boys following.

“She’s at the last one here, right Bran? At the last- what are they called again?”

“ _Piste_ ,” Bran responded. “That’s the name of the fencing field.”

“Well done, Bran. Such a smart young man.”

Lysa found them seats on the second bench, waving to Arya. Sansa spotted her at the bench against the side wall, strapping on her jacket over the protective undershirt. She gave a quick wave, then went back to speaking to a young man with a mass of black hair and a handsome face with a strong, square jaw.

“Hello,” Lysa murmured appreciatively. “Who’s the beef jerky?”

Sansa turned her head to stare at her aunt, who chose to ignore her niece’s incredulous look. “Must be Gendry,” Sansa said with a laugh as she turned back to get a better look at her sister’s crush.

He certainly was handsome. She knew her sister was only a few inches over five feet, so she guessed Gendry was about Sansa’s height, maybe a few inches shorter. He was powerfully built, broad-shouldered, biceps showing nicely in a short-sleeved shirt that clung to his pecs. He had a nice smile, the beam of which he was currently focusing on Arya. Even at this distance, Sansa could see his sweet dimples and bright blue eyes under thick, dark brows. To Sansa’s surprise, Arya seemed cool and aloof under that charming, toothy grin, her mouth twisted in a scowl. For someone who was apparently head-over-heels with this guy, she certainly had a funny way of showing it.

Gendry laughed at something Arya had growled out of the corner of her frown, and started to walk away, knocking into her shoulder for just a moment as he passed her. Arya focused on fixing her gorget around her neck, then pulling on her gloves. A small, slender man walked over, and from the business-like manner he had with Arya, Sansa guessed this must be her fencing instructor. She liked his animated yet serious expression as he spoke rapidly with Arya, his hands gesticulating wildly as he expounded on various attacks and parries.

Eventually, a small woman approached the _piste_ , and both Arya and a young man met and spoke with her for a few minutes, then separated. Arya saluted her opponent with her foil, the thin, light-weight blunted blade she specialized in. Some of the other bouts today would be with the _epee_ and the _sabre_ , which Arya at times had also used. Sansa knew she preferred the light, flexible blade, and she was quite proficient with it. The referee warned the players to take their guards, and Arya pulled on her mask and crouched in her fencing stance, left arm and foot forward, in the air half a foot from her ear.

Sansa did not profess to know much about fencing. She knew some leagues used electronic scoring systems, but that the college league Arya played in still stuck to the old ways, with a referee who determined points. There was a middle line, two _en guarde_ lines about four meters away from each other, then a line two meters short of the end of the strip. The fencers started behind the _en guarde_ lines, then moved forward after the referee’s signal. If one fencer pushed the other past the end of the strip, that counted as a point. A fencer had to earn five points to win. Sansa had never seen Arya lose, though she knew it had occurred.

“ _Prets?_ ” the referee asked. Sansa knew it was French for “ready?” Arya and her opponent nodded. “ _Allez!_ ” the woman cried, “go!”

Arya and her opponent approached one another, and a flurry of blows followed. Arya was soon awarded the first point.

Sansa had tried to learn some of the finer points of the game, and could put up a decent front after the event, by remarking on a particularly good lunge, or asking who had had the right of way in the last phrase, but Sansa didn’t really know what she was talking about, and if Arya knew it, she didn’t let on. She would launch into a detailed description of every aspect of the bout, and Sansa would nod along, and that seemed to satisfy Arya.

Arya won handily, of course. There would be a fifteen-minute break, at least, possibly longer, before the next bout. The participants in the foil were entered in a bracket, so Arya would have to wait for the next match to be over, to determine who she would face next. Sansa watched Arya remove her mask and gloves, then go to sit on the bench on the side wall, taking a long draw from a bottle of water.

Sansa turned to Lysa. “So what did she tell you?”

Lysa frowned slightly, though her eyes were slightly playful. Lysa had always had a bit of a twinkle in her eye, that was one of the things Sansa had first loved about her aunt. She remembered her aunt warmly from her childhood, remembered her as a fun, spirited woman who doted on her nephews and nieces. After the Starks moved to America, Lysa didn’t see them for a few years. Then Lysa experienced her own tragedy, around the same time as her sister. Her husband, Sansa’s uncle Jon, died of a sudden illness. Shortly after, Lysa’s only son, Robyn, died too, of leukemia. Widowed and heartbroken, Lysa made the sudden decision to move to America to be near her only remaining family. Shorty after, Lysa’s sister and oldest nephew were killed, and Lysa became the bedrock of the Stark family, taking in the two youngest, and mentoring Sansa and Arya as best she could.

By all rights, so much grief should have killed whatever it was that made her eyes sparkle. But Lysa kept her sense of whimsy and spirit, and Sansa had never known her to not have a cheery disposition, nowadays, at least.

“Well, I promised I wouldn’t say anything,” Lysa demurred, “but a wee bird told me you have a fella. A nice proper fella, eh?”

Sansa smiled. “That wee bird was right. We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks now. I hope it’s all right. I invited him to Rickon’s soccer match and to dinner.”

Lysa beamed at Sansa, who couldn’t help smiling back. “My dear, that would be lovely. We’d love to meet him. How did you get to know him?”

“Through work. He played piano at the studio.”

“Ah,” Lysa nodded with a knowing glance and a smile. “And he caught your eye, eh?”

“Arya didn’t tell you all this?” Sansa teased.

“All I heard was that you were seeing a fellow, and he was quite the specimen,” Lysa replied with a smirk and a wink.

Sansa cast a worried glance at the boys, but was relieved to see they were both engrossed in their video game and book, and not paying them any attention. “He’s not bad to look at. He’s got a scar, though, so don’t stare.” Sansa gestured to the right side of her face to illustrate.

Lysa tsked. “Wouldn’t dream of it, dearie. And I’ll speak to the boys, too.” She hesitated, pursing her lips slightly for a moment before she continued. “How old is he, dearest? Not that I object,” she said in a rush, reaching out to lay a hand briefly on Sansa’s shoulder. “You know my Jon was almost fifteen years older than me, and your father and mother were a few years apart as well, I was just wondering.”

“I don’t mind you asking. He’s 36.”

Lysa nodded, “Well, that’s not that big a difference. You were always mature for your age, anyway. Had to, after all that.” Lysa gave Sansa an encouraging smile, and Sansa repressed the urge to give Lysa a giant hug right there in front of everyone. She knew her aunt wasn’t much for public displays of affection, though, so Sansa just smiled back at her. Then her eyes flicked up to Lysa’s hair.

“Is your cockatee-do getting taller?”

“You mind yourself, young lass. My hairdresser’s been on me to dye it purple, and I’ve a mind to do it. Just you watch, I’ll come next week with hair bright violet, just you wait.”

Sansa chuckled and leaned over, bumping Lysa’s shoulder with her own. Lysa smiled, then looked back over to where Arya sat on the side, Gendry standing over her, clearly flirting with her, though Arya didn’t seem particularly receptive to it.

Lysa made a small hum of approval. “What a lucky aunt I am, to have two nieces with such excellent taste in men.”

Sansa heard a hastily covered snort of laughter to her right, and looked over to see Bran smirking at his book. She hit him with her shoulder as well, and chuckled dryly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who got to research a lot of fencing? I will refer you to the Wikipedia page for fencing for questions about rules and equipment, and I tried to pretty much explain it as I went along, so hopefully it's clear enough to follow for someone who doesn't know anything about fencing. Luckily, I was writing from Sansa's point of view, and I could write her as interested enough in fencing as a way to support her sister, but also, not like an expert or anything.
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing Aunt Lysa here, and there should be a good bit of her in the next chapter too. We decided she is the epitome of that "fun Mom entergy" John Mullaney talked about in his stand-up. I know she's pretty different than the books, but I think with modern therapy and actually reaching out to her family for help instead of sequestering herself (and staying the fuck away from Petyr), Lysa could have become a cool person. Hope it wasn't distracting.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor meets Sansa, Lysa, Arya, and Bran for Rickon's soccer game and family dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, it's been forever!!! I know I had said 20 chapters total, but I'm probably going to expand that. I'll see how I feel after the next chapter.
> 
> This might be a bit slap-dash. Hope it's not too bad. I just didn't have much time to read it back over. Bear with me!

Sandor walked the last few blocks from the subway to the youth sporting center, his hands stuffed deep in his jacket. He had spent the entire ride from Queens wondering what he was doing, if he really thought he was ready for this relationship stuff. What had possessed him to think he could be in a relationship with a nice, fairly normal woman, let alone one that was two-thirds his age?

And her family, what would they make of him? He didn’t know much about normal family activities like communal meals and bringing a girl or boy home, but he’d never labored under the delusion that he was the kind of person a family would want their daughter to bring home. He was huge, hulking, socially awkward, literally scarred.

But then he remembered that Sansa’s family wasn’t normal. She didn’t have a mother and father to dream and plan for her future any more. No protective older brother to disapprove. Just an aunt and younger brothers, survivors of a strange storm of death and micro tragedies. It wasn’t that Sandor thought an aunt and younger brothers would be less particular or concerned, but maybe a family that’s been pulled apart and cobbled back together would be more open, more forgiving of his faults.

Every time that inner voice started to nag at him, to remind him he wasn’t good enough, wasn’t funny or kind or smart enough to be in a healthy relationship, he remembered how it felt, waking up with her, listening to her talk about her day. He held onto the memory of holding her and thought he would never let Sansa go. If she ever got sick of him, she would have to be the one to cut ties. He’d spent too much of his life alone, he’d be damned if he sabotaged the only thing he had going for him at the moment. He’d cut off that self-critical voice, deprive it of attention until it starved. For Sansa, if not for himself.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a text from Sansa telling him they’d already found seats, and what section to find them in. He headed into the small soccer field through a gap in the fence, passing a few groups of families as he walked towards the metal bleachers on either side of the field.

He would have spotted Sansa immediately even without the directions. The sun gleamed and turned her auburn hair flaming red, flashing at him from across the field, brilliant against the blue of her shirt and the green of the grassy park behind her. She was speaking animatedly with a pleasant-looking, middle-aged woman beside her, whose black hair was styled in a mohawky spiked-up hairdo. It would have looked strange on most women, but she pulled it off well. A boy sat next to the woman he assumed was Lysa, absorbed in a book, and Arya sat on the end. Sansa looked over and saw him mounting the stairs, her face blooming into a smile that flipped his stomach upside-down.

“You found us!” she said when he got close enough. She leaned over and placed one hand on his chest, going up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. Sandor felt himself flush. He normally hated that; it turned the left side of his face bright pink, while the scarred side stayed pale, and the contrast just brought attention to his flaws.

Sansa introduced her aunt, who shook his hand with a firm grip, and then her brother Bran. “And you know Arya, of course.”

Sandor and Arya exchanged cool looks, inclining their heads towards each other marginally.

They sat down, Sandor next to Sansa. Arya turned back to watch the game, and Bran resumed his book. Lysa, though, leaned forward to talk to Sandor over Sansa.

“Sansa’s told me so much about you, Sandor,” Lysa smiled at him across Sansa.

“Has she?” he asked.

“Well, I know your name and how you met.”

Sandor chuckled dryly. Lysa had a curious sense of humor, he could tell that much, though she had such a serious air that, although he suspected she was poking fun, he couldn’t quite be sure. “Ah, what more is there to know?” he replied lightly.

Lysa laughed airly, then began to ask questions, lightly, conversationally, so he almost didn’t notice he was being grilled. He told her where he was from, when he came over to New York, the general facts about his family, mother died when he was young, father still lived in Scotland, brother and sister.

“And where are they?” Lysa asked.

“Dead,” he replied firmly. Lysa took the hint and turned her attention back to the game. “Oh look, Rickon’s back in.”

Sansa pointed him out, a tall, slightly gangly kid with curly brown hair, number 12 on his back. Sandor would have guessed he’d be awkward and clumsy, but he was exactly the opposite, quick and well-coordinated. He played forward, and within four or five minutes, he’d already scored. Sandor was surprised to see him get called out of the game at the next break in play.

“Why’d they pull him out, he’s the best player?” He turned to Sansa and was rewarded with a proud smile.

“That’s the coaches. They insist on giving everyone equal time to play. It’s kind of nice, but it is frustrating to see Rickon sit on the sidelines so much. But one more year before he goes to high school, and then he’ll get to play as much as he wants.”

“Did you ever play?” Lysa asked, eager to find an acceptable topic of conversation. Sandor realized she was eager to please, curious, but not disapproving.

“Ah, just around the block when I was younger than him. Ma didn’t like sports, got me into piano early. Da hated that, so of course, that suited me.”

Lysa smiled. “Rebellious, huh? Just like this one.” Sandor thought for certain the Lysa meant Arya, but he was surprised to see Lysa nudge her oldest niece with her shoulder.

Sandor guffawed. “Sansa, rebellious?” he asked.

Lysa nodded, a twinkle in her eye. “Oh yes, as a teenager? You couldn’t tell her anything, could you Sansa? But then you turned into such a sweet young woman.” Lysa added the last in a rush, eager to stay in good standing with her niece, who appeared to be glaring at her, as far as Sandor could tell, not being able to completely see Sansa’s face. Sandor chuckled.

“Well, I can’t imagine Sansa as a rebel. Not at all,” Sandor replied, a little too evenly. Sansa’s head whirled around to fix him with the same stony glare, although her facade was cracking into a slight smile. Lysa caught Sandor’s eye over Sansa’s head. Sandor tried to keep a neutral, innocent expression on his face, but he was sure a smile was creeping in.

Rickon’s team ended up winning 7-2, with Rickon earning three of those goals. Sandor and Sansa left the game early to start dinner, but Sansa reported the score to Sandor as they arrived at her house.

Sandor followed Sansa into the kitchen, quickly put to work chopping vegetables as Sansa took the beef out to come to room temperature and preheated the oven. Once the onion was chopped, she began sauteeing it as Sandor chopped the carrots and potatoes so they’d be ready later.

“So what did you think?” she asked lightly, eyes on the sizzling onion.

“I liked them. Your aunt seems nice. Thought she was grilling me at first.”

Sansa smiled as she put the beef into the pan to brown. “She was being a touch passive aggressive. She didn’t really hear about you from me, Arya told her. Lysa asked me about you at Arya’s fencing match, and I told her your name, where we met, how old you are.”

Sandor felt a sudden wave of doubt. Why hadn’t Sansa told her family about him? That creeping doubt returned, maybe she was ashamed of him, she wasn’t serious about this. But he pushed it away just as quickly, reminding himself that he’d hardly have been invited to the family dinner if she really wasn’t sure about him. “Why didn’t you tell her about me?” he asked cautiously, still curious but not wanting to push.

Sansa finished browning the meat, transferred it to the dutch oven, then poured half of the wine in the pan. It sizzled, and Sansa used a wooden spoon to unstick the caramelized meat and onion from the bottom of the skillet.

She sighed softly. “It’s really not about you. It’s a subtle hint to Lysa to not interfere.”

That surprised Sandor. He waited until she went on.

“I used to date this guy, very much on my aunt’s recommendation. She liked to think she was a matchmaker. He was the son of a friend of my aunt and uncle’s, and she just talked him up all the time, Harry this, Harry that. According to her, Harry was perfect and amazing. So we went on a date, just Harry and me, not Lysa, but she might as well have been there. She was just so meddling, recommending restaurants, getting Harry to send me flowers. She convinced me to let him move into the basement apartment after the previous tenant graduated and went back home. It was just way too soon for both of us. She reasoned that it wouldn’t be any different than him living in an apartment in another building way across town, but it clearly was.”

Sansa finished the sauce, poured it over the beef, placed the lid on top. Sandor reached for the pot handles, and Sansa let him pick it up, opened the oven door so he could slide the pot into place on the center rack. After she shut the oven door, she leaned back against a counter.

“It took me a while to realize he was a little shit. He was a slob, I ended up being his maid. I soon found out that he had no real interest in me, he was just using me to get the apartment. We stopped dating, but I ended up letting him stay.” Sandor must have had an incredulous look on his face, because she smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “He was never here anyway, after we broke up, and I let him know under no uncertain terms that if he left dirty dishes in the sink for more than an hour, I would deposit them on his bed. I don’t think he ever used another dish in the house again.”

Sandor laughed at that. “What happened with you and Lysa?”

“We talked about it, she apologized. She said she didn’t know he was just using me. It hurt, and I told her that. She was sorry, and I knew that. It didn’t change anything though, and it took a little time for our relationship to recover. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she had just set us up, you know? But she talked me into going further than I wanted, before I was ready. I would ask her for advice, and she would all but dismiss my concerns, come up with reasonable explanations of why he would be acting that way. When the real reason was that he was a little prick.” She shook her head. “Only good thing that came out of it was that I learned to trust my own intuition. Have to grow up fast when you’re an orphan.” She stood with one arm crossed over her stomach with the hand latched onto the other arm, shrugged asymmetrically. “It could have been worse. But it would have been nice to get to be a child for just a little longer, you know?”

Sandor nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.” He took the cutting board to the sink, began washing it and the knife. “Shall I rip off the bandage then? You ready to hear about my family?”

Sandor saw Sansa nod out of the corner of his eye. “If you want to tell me.”

Sandor chuckled as he first sudsed and then rinsed the wood cutting board and knife. “I don’t want to tell you, but I think it’s time. Get it out of the way.”

Sansa took the knife carefully, dried it with a kitchen towel, placed it back in the wood block.

“First thing you should know is my brother gave me this scar. I was a little boy, four or five, and he caught me playing with one of his toys. He was four years older than me, but he was a big brute. He made me look like the runt. And he was mean. I already had several bruises and scars because of him, though most of them healed with no lasting effects. But something about seeing me playing with his toy truck, one that he didn’t even play with anymore, drove him over the edge. He snatched me up by the arm, dragged me over to the radiator, and pushed my face against it until I could smell my flesh cooking. Da heard me screaming and finally pulled Gregor off me. Gregor left the room laughing as my mother took me to the hospital. She told them what Gregor had done, and he went to a home. Stayed there for two years until he had supposedly got his anger under control. Then one day, not a few months later, he pushed my sister down the stairs. She broke her neck, he went to juvenile detention.”

Sansa dried the cutting board with stiff hands, placed it back in the cupboard. Sandor wiped down the sink to have something to do with his own hands. He’d never told anyone this before, not all at once, not to the same person.

“He got let out at 18, since they reckoned it was mostly an accident, that he never meant to kill her, but then he cut up a man in a pub because he made a joke about Gregor’s height. After that, Gregor only got out of jail long enough to commit another crime. Then he killed a man in cold blood, and they put him away for thirty years. Could have spared all those people if they’d just realized what he was back when I was five.”

He turned to look towards Sansa as he wrung out the sponge, washed and dried his hands. “You going to bolt yet?”

Sansa gave him a tight-lipped smile, shook her head.

“My mother died when I turned 18, almost ten years after Gregor left our house for good. It was stomach cancer, nasty way to go. She was so strong to the end, though. Once she was gone, I had nothing to keep me there, and I boarded a plan for New York.”

“Why New York?” Sansa asked softly, shifting closer to him as he turned to face her, his back against the sink.

He shrugged. “No real reason. I got work on a ship, that’s where it was headed. As soon as it arrived, I bailed. Actually had issues with my passport for a while, because I didn’t technically enter the country legally, but Tormund helped me get in good standing.”

Sansa smiled at that. “Really? Tormund?”

“Well, a lawyer he knew that had helped him. And that’s about it. That’s my tale of woe.”

“That’s quite a story,” Sansa murmured, shifting closer, until she was standing right next to him. Sandor reached out and pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her waist. Sansa gave a soft little sigh as she settled against him.

“Still have one question for you though. Well, one question and a follow-up.”

She smiled, settling her arms around his neck. “Oh? Which are?”

“Can I beat the shit out of this Harry guy?”

Her smile widened. “Tempting. Let’s just say I’ll consider it. And the next question?”

“What else are we going to do with the next two hours?”

Sansa pressed her lips together, repressing a grin, and made a soft humming noise. “I don’t know. Do you possibly have any ideas?”

Sandor leaned down to press his lips against hers, mouths opening to pull each other closer, Sandor’s hands burying in her hair. Sansa pulled herself away just long enough to set the timer on the oven for two hours, then jumped into Sandor’s arms, as he steered them across the kitchen, up the stairs, to collapse in Sansa’s bed.

After three orgasms, Sansa fell back against the bed, loose-limbed and sated, breath gradually slowing. Sandor pulled her into him after disposing of the condom. Sansa nestled to his chest, face buried in his chest-hair, until she had to lean back for air.

Sandor stroked his hands down Sansa’s hair and back, making her shiver against him, almost awakening that need again. But instead they settled into the embrace, breathing in each other’s air and musky scent, until Sandor realized he was in danger of falling asleep.

“So now that we’ve had the talk,” Sansa murmured against his neck, and Sandor was grateful to her for breaking the silence, for giving him something to focus on besides the silence.

“The talk,” Sandor said with a chuckle. “Sounds like the birds and the bees.”

He could feel Sansa smirk against his shoulder. “More like the exes and ohs. I was wondering how many you have.”

“How many?”

“Exes.”

“Not many,  _ eun beag _ . Nothing for you to be jealous of. Nothing long-term, but a few friends with benefits. Nothing but one-night stands for years, though.”

Sansa stirred against him, changing the angle of her head, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. “It’s not like I’m jealous. I just can’t believe no one’s ever locked you down. I can’t be the first to realize what a good guy you are.”

Sandor scoffed. “Right, half my face hamburger, terrible apartment, go-nowhere job, asshole.”

“Your face is not that bad, I hardly even see it anymore. And everyone’s had a terrible apartment before. You’ll get a better job soon, I’m sure you will. And you might pretend to be an asshole, but you’re a big softie underneath. Besides, you play piano like a maestro, and you fuck like a god. Face it, hound. You’re kind of a catch.”

Sandor shook his head as he bent to kiss the top of Sansa’s head. “You need your head checked, lass,” he murmured with a chuckle.

They lounged in bed for a while longer, then got up to shower before it was time to put the vegetables in. By the time Lysa, Bran, Rickon, and Arya showed up, Sansa and Sandor had the table set, the roast rested and carved, candles lit and wine poured for the adults, and Sandor was standing at the record player, deciding what to play for dinner.

The Stark family had amassed a good collection of classical music. Sandor chose a YoYo Ma album, because as much as he loved piano, the strings were also a personal favorite, and lighter, better for dinner background.

Sansa carried the roast into the dining room, set it proudly on the table next to Lysa at the head. “Might be the best one yet,” she said beaming, then explained for Sandor’s benefit. “Mum said that every week.”

Lysa served, starting with the kids, then Sandor, Sansa, and lastly, herself. Sandor made small talk with Rickon, who was seated to his right, about the soccer match, asking about how long he’d been forward, if he was planning to play in college.

“I’d like to, especially if I can get a scholarship like Arya. That way we don’t have to use up our trust funds and Sansa can stay in the house.”

The table grew quiet then, and Sandor could feel the tension in the room, like a taboo subject had been broached.

“Rickon, why are you even thinking about that? I don’t want you worried about money,” Sansa protested, hands frozen in the middle of cutting her roast.

“Well, it’s not like money problems will just vanish if I don’t worry about it.” Sandor thought Rickon made a good point, but had enough sense to keep his mouth shut.

“We don’t have any money problems,” Sansa replied.

“No, but the trust fund isn’t going to hold up if all three of us go to college and have to pay. Then you’ll feel like you have to sell the house.”

Lysa started like she was going to say something, but a glance from Sansa seemed to make her think better of it. Sansa turned back to Rickon with a sigh. “You’re right about the trust fund. It was set up for our education, all of us, and when you and Bran go to college, it might not be enough, depending on how much it costs. At that point, we’ll do whatever we have to do to make sure you both get to go to school. We’ll make a decision as a family. And if we have to sell the house, or rent it, we will. Because your education is more important than me having a nice place to live. I wish you wouldn’t worry about it, at least not yet.”

She turned back to her dinner, and it was like a spell had broken. Arya aimed a kick down the table to Rickon, which caught Sandor straight in the shin, hissing that Rickon shouldn’t say things at dinner to upset Sandor, Bran rolled his eyes and nudged Arya with his elbow, started saying something about how Rickon had a right to be concerned about something. Whatever it was, Sandor didn’t hear it over Rickon’s sudden retort to Arya that Arya was always defending Sansa.

“Oi,” Lysa barked from the head of the table, just as Sansa had opened her mouth to join in the fray. “You’re far too old for this bickering, hush up! Sansa made a lovely meal, we’re not going to sit here arguing until it goes cold.”

Sandor reached down to rub his leg; decided it was finally the perfect moment to interject. “I’m just glad Arya’s not the one playing soccer. You beaned me right in the shin, you know.”

That seemed to do the trick. Everyone burst out laughing, while Arya turned bright red. She murmured a reluctant apology, and the meal continued without another outburst.

Lysa made Rickon and Arya clear the table, probably as punishment, while Sansa picked a board game. Sandor joined her to look over their selection.

“Hmm. Life. I hated that game,” he said.

“Everyone does,” Sasa said with a laugh.

“Scrabble.”

“Can you play with six people?”

“Hmm. Monopoly?”

“Oh no! We don’t play that, not since the Table Flipping Incident of 2006.” Sansa pointed to Arya, with her back blocking the gesture so her sister wouldn’t see. Sandor snorted.

“Clue? Everyone likes Clue, and you can play with six people,” he pointed out the battered box.

“Agreed.” Sansa carried the box back to the table. “I get to be Miss Scarlet!” she announced.

They ended up playing three games, with Lysa as Mrs. Peacock and Arya as Mrs. White. Arya won once, Sandor (Mr. Green) once, and Bran won the last one (Professor Plum), figuring out it was Miss Scarlett in the Conservatory with the wrench.

Sansa gasped. “You found me out!” when Bran checked the solution envelope and displayed the correct cards he had predicted. Bran gave a little shrug, but Sandor could see he was pleased to have won.

It was almost ten by the end of the last game, so Lysa had to cut them off. Arya asked Lysa if she would drop her back off at school, and Lysa agreed. The boys shook Sandor’s hand formally, Arya punched Sandor’s shoulder with a cool camaraderie, but Lysa surprised Sandor by pulling him into a quick hug.

“Lovely to meet you Sandor,” she said with a fond smile. “So glad Sansa found you.” She held Sandor in a beaming smile for a moment, then gave Sansa a hug and followed the boys out of the house. Sansa shut the door behind them, and came back to find Sandor packing up the board game in the dining room. She came up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed against his back.

“They like you,” she said, letting him go with one last squeeze.

“I like them, Miss Scarlett. Just keep away from the wrenches.”

Sansa cackled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cute, fluffy homey chapter. More ballet next chapter. There will probably be two or three more chapters, and then the premiere. Hope you liked it, and you're willing to stick around for a bit more!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finds out more about Sandor's life away from her, and proposes a new step in their relationship. Petyr is as unpleasant as ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, almost didn't notice I'd only predicted 20 chapters for this fic. Extending that to 25, cause I still have at least 5 more chapters left.

“I want to see your apartment,” Sansa told Sandor the next morning, snuggling up to the big barrel chest, one leg thrown haphazardly over his waist, hands exploring the expanse of his back. Sandor groaned against her neck.

“God’s sake, why? It’s a shit-hole.”

Sansa shivered at the vibration of his low murmur against her throat as much from the soft kisses he began planting on the delicate skin right behind her ear.

“I can give you some really good motivation,” she murmured, turning her head to find his mouth, kissing him deeply, moaning appreciatively when she felt his erection dig into her hip.

“What’s that?” he asked, pushing back waves of her hair to begin attacking the other side of her neck.

“No sex until I see your apartment,” she replied huskily. Sandor stopped kissing her neck to stare at her, face resolute.

“Then get dressed.”

The whole walk to the subway, and the forty minute ride to Queens, Sandor would periodically shake his head. They stood in the car, it was surprisingly busy for a Sunday, Sansa leaning back against Sandor’s chest, maybe a little closer than they needed to be. Sandor would shake his head and wonder aloud again why she wanted to go. Finally, on the walk from the station to the building, Sansa spoke up.

“Stop asking me that! What, do you have dead bodies there? I just want to see your place.”

Sandor shrugged, looked surprised like he hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud. “I’m sorry, I’m just nervous. You’re going to take a look at this place and dump me flat.”

“Stop it! I’m sure it’s not that bad!”

Sandor indicated his building. “Let’s get this over with.”

The building itself was a little rundown, Sansa could see from the outside. It was solid brick, probably built in the 50s or 60s, judging by the architecture. Sandor unlocked the front door, and Sansa followed him in.

The interior confirmed her judgment of the age. It was a 5-story building, no elevator.

Sandor shrugged. “Top floor, I’m afraid.”

Sansa smiled grimly. “I can take it.”

The staircase was fairly well-lit, carpet was thread-bare, but well-tacked down, no errant wrinkles or loose corners. It seemed to be pretty well-maintained, if not particularly flashy.

Sandor unlocked the triple-locks on his apartment door, and Sansa wondered if it was out of necessity or over-cautiousness. He let her in with a sigh.

It certainly wasn’t glamorous, though Sansa didn’t think it was as bad as he was made it out to be. Sandor shut the door behind them, locking it. Sansa watched fondly as he hung the keys on a little hook.

There was a line of coat hooks by the door. Sansa ran her hand lightly over the soft, worn leather of a jacket. A row of neat shoes stood lined up below the hooks, a pair of running shoes, a pair of thick snow boots, and a set of ankle-high lace-up leather boots that matched the pair he wore, this pair brown instead of black.

The kitchen was clean, if not pretty. Peeling laminate covered the floor, and the Formica countertops were covered in white contact paper. She peaked at the toaster, inside the microwave, in the fridge. All clean, if a little bare. No dishes left in the sink. She ignored the living room, opening the door that stood beyond the kitchen, which led to a little walk-in closet, with a dresser and a few free-standing racks of clothes. Mostly black pants and short- and long-sleeved shirts of varying styles and dark colors. Here she also found a heavy, woolen winter coat, and a rack of scarves that looked hand-made. A small stack of woolen caps stood on top of the dresser.

Sandor leaned against the door jamb, watching with a bemused expression as she pulled open a drawer to reveal socks and underwear (clean, no holes) and another drawer with a row of neatly stacked white and black tee shirts. “It’s supposedly a bedroom, but not big enough to sleep in.

There were a few boxes stacked in the corner. Sansa went through another door to a tiny bathroom that was nevertheless clean. No soap scum on the shower, no hair trimmings in the sink or noticeable toothpaste stains on the mirror.

Sansa left and returned to the main room, followed by Sandor. A small card table stood at the edge of the little kitchenette, and instead of a couch, he had a queen-sized bed. Unmade, but the sheets looked reasonably clean. A coffee table served as a nightstand, and a little TV stood on a stack of milk crates. A record player rested in one of the crates, and another held a collection of records. Sansa flipped through them, watching with amusement as Sandor started to get fidgety and nervous.

“All right, I let you paw through my stuff. Tell me what you wanted,” he burst out impatiently.

Sansa turned to him with a shrug. “Just wanted to see where you live, how you live. You’re very neat.”

Sandor grunted, but he sounded relieved. “Compared to who?”

“Most people.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in closer to kiss him.

“Besides, I thought maybe we could fool around here a bit. Like your dream?”

Sandor seemed to loosen up then, grabbing her and hoisting her up so she had to wrap her legs around his waist. He kept his hands on her ass as he carried her over to the bed, tossing her down so that she bounced back up again an inch or two off the bed. He quickly un-tied and shucked off his shoes and joined her, crouching over her. Sansa revelled in the solid feeling of his body above hers, the comforting weight of him between her legs, as he knelt over her and kissed her, pressing her into the mattress.

“I didn’t bring a condom,” he murmured against her mouth, leaving her lips to nip at her neck.

“Good thing I did,” Sansa replied breathily, reaching into her back pocket.

“Very good thing. I don’t think this will be a soft and gentle one.”

Sansa gasped as he bit at her nipple through the thin fabric of her tee shirt before flipping up the fabric and sucking the red peak into his mouth. “Yes, fuck me, Sandor.”

He slid his hand beneath her jeans as she scrambled to unfasten them, fingers finding her clit as Sansa moaned. His fingers were soon soaked and pushing into her. Sansa pulled off her shirt and kicked off her shoes, reaching down to tug at the bottom of Sandor’s tee shirt, until he finally pulled his fingers from her with a slick pop and pulled off the rest of his clothes.

“How do you want it, little minx?”

Sansa flipped over onto her knees, crouched at the edge of the bed. She collected her hair over one shoulder, and peeked back at Sandor, remaining upright on her knees.

“Think you could fuck me from behind, like this? Instead of all-fours?”

Sandor seemed to eye the height, came to stand behind her. “I think it could be managed, at least for a while.”

Sansa handed him the condom, gasping as his fingers slid inside her once more, this time testing, calculating the angle of approach. With one hand and his teeth, he ripped open the packet, and Sansa helped him slide the condom over his cock, lingering over the task, enjoying the feeling of the firm organ.

When the condom was secure, Sandor gently removed his fingers, placing the head of his cock at her entrance, pushing gently inside, finding the right angle to enter. He had to slightly bend his knees, but was able to achieve the perfect height, and pushed inside her.

Sansa gasped at the novel sensation of his cock pushing inside of her from a new trajectory, the drag of it against her walls coupled with the feeling of his firm chest against her back. One hand snaked around her chest to pull her back against him, the other slid down the front of her thigh, then back up to her pelvis, one finger sliding between her lips to begin stroking her clit. He pulled out slightly, then slammed back inside of her, his hips hitting her ass with a meaty smack.

“Fuck,” he murmured in her ear, his breath and low pitch making her shiver. “Your cunt is fucking amazing.”

He withdrew again, to return quicker and harder. Sansa gasped, head thrown back against Sandor’s shoulder.

His left hand dropped to her hip, while the other continued to stroke between her legs. Holding her hips steady, Sandor set a dizzying pace with his thrusts, as his finger strummed faster and faster on the sensitive spot. Sansa had to gasp for air, and distantly heard the cries she was making.

“Going to come,” she gasped, breath ragged.

“Come for me, Sansa,” Sandor ordered, and Sansa shrieked, the orgasm peaking, waves of ecstasy that she felt from head to toe, rolling over her again and again. She was grateful for Sandor behind her, holding her up as he continued to move in and out, in and out. When her pleasure had abated, he withdrew from her, drawing a sad little moan of dismay from her.

Sansa soon realized he was relaxing his sore thigh muscles, which had been flexed the whole time, lowering his hips to the right height to fit up with hers. She pulled him down to the bed, then, flat on his back, climbing on tip of him with glee. She soon lined his cock up once more with the entrance, lowered herself onto his cock, which she felt twitch eagerly inside of her.

Sandor let her ride him for a few moments, before upheaving her with a sudden up-thrust of his hips, rolling until she was beneath him, still impaled on his cock.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he panted in her ear as he began to pump into her again. “I had a fantasy about fucking you here. I wanted to see the way your hair looked spread out on the bed.”

Sansa moaned in response, as his weight began to press into her pelvis, his hips grinding against the still-thrumming button of her clit. “I guess you can make it up to me,” she replied with a smile, fluffing up her hair so it trailed over the sheets.

Sandor smiled crookedly, his face hovering a few inches above hers. He reached down between them, and Sansa cried out when his fingertips bumped against her still-sensitive clit.

“Fuck me,” she moaned. Her hands reached up to clutch the sheets above her as she shifted her legs to wrap around Sandor’s waist, changing the angle of his cock inside her. A few more strokes, and she was tipped over the edge again, wailing and gripping the sheets, eyes half-shut, breath coming in gasps. Sandor followed her a few moments later, hips driving against hers, thrusting a few more ragged pumps before he collapsed on top of her.

Sansa held him as her breath returned, drawing her hands soothingly up and down his back. His spent cock slipped out, and he soon turned to one side and lay sprawled out beside her, one arm around her shoulders. Sansa curled into his side, one hand on his stomach, idly toying with his thick curly hair.

“Was it as good as your fantasy?” she asked idly, rewarded with a smile and a squeeze of her hip.

“Far better,” he replied.

They dozed for a while, Sansa eventually turning on her side, Sandor snuggled in behind her. Eventually, he got up to use the bathroom and dispose of the condom, and Sansa was sitting on the bed when he returned, shirt and underwear back on.

“Dressed already?” he asked, looking slightly nervous again. “Can’t wait to leave, I take it?”

“Well, I wanted to make a proposition, but I wanted to be at least mostly dressed when I made it.”

“And what are you proposing?” he asked, pulling on his boxer-briefs.

“That you come and live with me. The basement apartment is open, I have no one to rent it. I could try to find someone but they would either end up being one of the other ballerinas, or worse, a stranger. I don’t really relish either option, honestly.”

Sandor pulled on his jeans, fiddling with the belt buckle for a moment, eyes downcast. “You don’t want me there,” he said with a shrug, finally fastening the belt.

“I do,” Sansa replied firmly.

“What if it’s too soon, like with Harry?”

“Harry was Harry. He was an asshole, a slob, and dishonest about his intentions. That was different. I know you like me for who I am, you didn’t know about my family or money or expect anything from me. You’re a bit rough around the edges, but you’re sweet to me, that’s all I care about. And I came here spur of the moment and inspected your apartment. You’re not a slob, you’re very tidy, actually, and I respect your taste in music. I wasn’t ready for Harry to move in. I am ready for this.”

“What if I can’t afford it? I’m unemployed, remember?”

“What’s the rent here, a thousand a month?”

Sandor nodded. “Just about.

“I’m not going to tell you how much the rent is for the basement apartment unless you agree, but you can afford it. And it’s not like you pay me, the checks go straight to the lawyer. Harry had to pay the next month because he didn’t give notice, so you’re all good until November. It’ll give you time to get on your feet again, although that’s not why I’m offering.”

Sandor pulled on his shirt, slumped down onto the bed, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his hands. “And what if this-” he gestured vaguely between them, “doesn’t turn out the way we want?”

Sansa shrugged. “Depends. Maybe I would be fine with you staying, if we were still friends. At most I might ask you to look for a new place to live. Would that be ok?”

Sandor shrugged. “I don’t know. Can I have a little time to think about it?”

“Of course,” she replied, straddling his waist and kissing him softly. “And if you’re not ready, you’re not ready. It’s not going to change this. I’m still going to try to bone you every chance I get.”

Sandor laughed, a long slow chuckle, letting his hands fall to the curve of her ass. “You think I’m crazy to hesitate? Part of me thinks I am. Young sexy lovely like yourself, wanting me to move in with her and be her live-in squeeze, and me not sure.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy. It’s a big decision. And the last thing I would want is you moving in for the sex.”

Sandor winced. “I didn’t mean it like that. That sounded really crass. This is all just starting to feel a little bit like you picked me out at the pound and brought me home.”

Sansa giggled. “Where is this shelter of hot, brooding men? I have a few friends who would like to visit. And are you saying you’re going to piss on the rug?”

“I’m a little more house-broken than that, I hope. I’m glad you understand why I’m not sure. I’ve never lived with anyone before.”

Sansa nodded, giving him a little kiss before standing. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll be right back,” and headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

She faced the mirror, evaluating the state of her post-coital self, face pink, neck covered in light scratches from Sandor’s beard, hair messy and wild. She finger-combed her hair as well as she could, then used the toilet.

She returned to the main room to find Sandor dressed, tying up the laces of his boots. He smiled at her then, and Sansa was swept away by how the simple gesture completely changed his face, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, his scars hardly noticeable next to the 20 watt beam of his pleasantly straight teeth. She walked over to him, standing in front of him as he sat on the bed, letting his legs spread open so she could stand between his thighs. At this vantage, Sandor had to tilt his head back to kiss her, and Sansa enjoyed the change in vantage. Her hands twined in his hair as she cupped the back of his head.

She leaned back slightly in the circle of his arms, kissing the scarred side of his face gently, whisper-soft brushes of her lips.

“Can you feel that?” she asked.

“Yes, barely. There was some nerve damage.” His arms tightened around her waist. “It really doesn’t bother you?”

“Depends on what you mean. Of course it bothers me that someone would do that to you, to any child. But the scars themselves? Course not. We’ve all got scars, haven’t we?”

“You don’t mind that I’m old and unemployed.” He was looking up at her with his solemn brown eyes, and Sansa wrapped her arms even tighter around his neck, pressing his face to her shoulder, softly kissing his forehead and pressing her cheek against the top of his head.

“You’re not old. And I don’t care what job you hold or how much money you make. You never have to impress me. Long as I have a piano, you’ll have a place to play.”

Sandor reached up and loosened her arms, leaning back to let his eyes roam over her face. “Then I’ll move in.”

Sansa broke into a broad smile. “Really? I was starting to worry it was way too soon and I was scaring you off. You’re sure?”

“No, I can’t say I’m completely sure. I just know I like you- nah, it’s stronger than that,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m not good with words. I wish I could tell you exactly how I feel about you. This is a piss-poor declaration, but I hope you knew from the beginning I was no poet. I know I think about you all the time, when I’m not with you. And if I get to choose between my lonely bed and being with you, I choose you. I hope you know I wasn’t hesitating ‘cause of you.”

Sansa pushed Sandor back onto the bed, falling with him as she climbed up onto the bed to straddle his hips. “I know,” she whispered before bending her head the last few inches to kiss him again.

They spent the rest of the afternoon at Sandor’s apartment, dropping by to a nearby diner for lunch, then returning to pack a few things into a few duffel bags. Riding the subway back home, Sansa couldn’t stop smiling, her arm around Sandor’s waist, relying on him to keep her steady against the swaying of the subway car. A few people cast disapproving looks at them, but Sansa hardly even noticed.

Upon arrival at the house, “their home,” Sansa thought happily, she gave Sandor a key and the code to the security system, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. She made room for his clothes in the closet and in the dresser drawers, and was still smiling hours later while she watched Sandor throw together a stir-fry from some chicken and canned vegetables.

“You just lured me here so I would cook for you, huh?” He pinched her cheek as he checked the rice.

“There’s a few tasks you perform exceptionally well,” Sansa replied with a cheeky grin.

They ate dinner in the living room, Sansa’s feet in Sandor’s lap, a glass of wine on the coffee table. Sansa could imagine spending most of her nights like this. As she settled down in the big bed, Sandor’s strong arm around her waist, and his broad chest at her back, she thought the big house felt like home again.

The next day, Sansa left for dress rehearsals while Sandor left to head back to Brooklyn to bring back some more of his things and give his super his 30 days notice of vacancy. He insisted on fixing Sansa a quick breakfast before she left.

“I can just eat my granola bar.”

Sandor pulled a face. “That’s not proper breakfast. I know you don’t like to eat a lot in the mornings, but you can have an egg and a bit of toast.”

Sansa smiled and let Sandor scramble an egg for her, and two eggs over-easy for himself, along with four pieces of toast. When Sansa left, dance-bag over her shoulder and several kisses left on her lips and cheeks, Sandor was washing the dishes, promising to plan something for dinner. Sansa locked the door behind her, feeling nothing could spoil her mood that beautiful morning.

“Sansa,” Olenna called to Sansa when she spotted the younger woman passing by her office door. “Baelish wants to see you right away.”

Sansa’s shoulders sagged. “Why?”

“He didn’t tell me. Want me to watch your bag?”

“Yeah, hopefully I’ll be right back,” Sansa replied, distractedly dropping her back into the chair and heading back to the main entrance to take the stairs up to Petyr’s office.

She thought the whole way about the last time she’d spoked to the man, the day she’d followed him inside after he stumbled upon Sansa and Sandor kissing.

“I warned you. But you didn’t listen, did you?” Then he’d swept up the stairs without a word, leaving Sansa to go find Olenna, who was surprised to see the ballerina, considering Olenna had never asked to see her.

Sansa knocked on the door, and opened the door at the quick reply.

“Sansa,” Petry smiled upon seeing her face, his eyes roving quickly over her tights, short skirt, and thin halter top. “We were just discussing the plans for Friday.”

Sansa nodded to Varys and Mrs Stokeworth, members of the board for the ballet company. She had met them years before, and Varys had been especially friendly to her, but in a professional manner. Everyone knew he was gay.

Sansa wracked her memory for a moment, then remembered: that Friday, the fundraiser. As the primary dancer of one of the two fall shows on the program, Sansa would be expected to put in a special appearance. And schmooze.

“Of course, I’m so excited to go,” she lied.

“Wonderful! I’m sure you will be a lovely addition to our evening’s festivities. Sir, madam, I would like a word with my prima ballerina.”

Varys and Mrs Stokeworth said their goodbyes, and passed by Sansa toward the door.

Petyr sat at the desk as the door shut closed behind them, leaving him and Sansa alone in his office. He pulled some papers in front of him, looking at them instead of Sansa.

“I hope you’re not planning to bring that oaf to the fundraiser.”

Sansa felt her face flush, and her hands close into fists. “It’s none of your business who I bring.”

Petyr shot her a look. “Careful there, dear. I made you in this company, I can break you, as well. You will not bring him, do you understand?”

Sansa knew if she replied, she would never be able to stay polite, and she would be fired. She turned on her heel and left the room, slamming the door behind her so hard the glass shuddered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter and your Halloween!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the evening of the fundraiser gala, and Arya has devious plans...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck Baelish

Sansa hummed the _pas de quatre_ theme from Swan Lake as she got ready for the fundraiser. The last week had been wonderful, perfect even. Sandor had moved in the rest of his things, got rid of the extra bed they didn’t need, and even got out of his lease early. The super was a good guy, who Sandor had helped out a few times with things around the house. As Sandor told Sansa later, the super explained he’d had several inquiries about apartments, and could turnover the apartment in days, especially given how clean Sandor kept the place.

The first week together had been lovely, waking up together, coming home to dinner cooking. Sansa felt like a husband from the 50s. Not that she didn’t pitch in. Sandor did the cooking, she did the dishes, and they shared the other cleaning tasks. They watched a movie while Sansa told him about her day, and Sandor caught her up on his job search. He had a few leads on a symphony, and if needed, he could take his lessons gig full-time, though Sansa hoped he wouldn’t have to, since he hated giving them.

Dress rehearsals had started, which Sansa always enjoyed. All the fun of dressing up and performing without any of the nerves and much less pressure. Yesterday, she’d got to sit in the audience while Dany and the other understudies performed. Dany looked beautiful and danced wonderfully. Sansa hated to admit it, but she knew she would have competition for roles next year.

Tomorrow was opening night. From now until the end of October, she would be performing four nights a week, plus one matinee. Wednesday and Thursday, Saturday afternoon and evening, Sunday evening. Dany would perform Friday evening and Sunday afternoon, and Monday and Tuesday evenings. It would be a grueling four weeks, but Sansa was ready for it.

Sansa was standing at the bathroom counter drying her hair. She had just gotten out of the shower, had thrown on a T-shirt while she got ready. As she turned off the dryer, she felt Sandor’s arms slip around her waist. He pushed aside her hair so that his lips could find her neck.

“How hard would I have to try to convince you to just stay home tonight?” he murmured in her ear.

Sansa looked into Sandor’s eyes through the mirror, as his hands dug under the over-sized shirt to find her skin.

“Mmm, if I was going to anything other than the fundraiser, you wouldn’t have to try that hard. But Petyr will have kittens if I don’t show up.”

“Let him,” Sandor murmured, nibbling on her neck.

Sansa spun around in his arm, hopping up on the counter, pulling Sandor in to kiss her, her legs wrapped around his hips. After a few moments, she pulled back, gazing up at Sandor with her arms around his neck.

“So I have a very non-romantic topic to discuss.”

“Fun,” Sandor murmured.

“I went to the doctor last week to check on my IUD.”

“Oh? Is everything ok?”

“Yep, everything’s fine. Still have three years until it needs to be replaced. I got tested too.”

Sandor’s eyebrows raised. “Oh?”

“Mmmhmm. I’m clean. I thought maybe if you went and got tested this week, we could throw away those condoms.”

He dug his nose into her neck again. “I’ll see if there’s a clinic open late.”

Sansa giggled as Sandor nipped at her neck, his stubble tickling her deliciously. “I’m sure tomorrow will be fine.”

Sandor released his grip on her, leaning back to examine her. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

She nodded. “Though I’ll miss getting my golden ticket.”

Sandor cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“The wrapper on the condoms, it’s gold. You know that movie, with the chocolate factory. Everytime we open the gold packet, I get a magical tour.”

“And I get to taste something delicious?”

“Exactly!” Sansa kissed Sandor once more, then pushed him away. “I have to get ready. I’m sorry you couldn’t come.”

She slipped off the counter and walked to her makeup table. Sandor followed, flopping down onto the bed to watch her get ready.

“I’m not. Making small talk with Petyr’s cronies? Don’t see how you stand it.”

“Most of them are decent people, and this might surprise you, but most of them don’t like Petyr either.”

“I do not find that surprising at all.”

Sansa finished her makeup, opting for a classic, minimal look, a little bit of a smoky eye, with a neutral lip. She selected a pair of gold hoops a few inches in diameter. She stood and went to her closet, pulling out the black jumpsuit, and a pair of black heels.

Sandor lay on his back, hands behind his head, smiling his crooked smile as Sansa pulled off the T-shirt. She was naked underneath, except for the pair of lacy black hiphuggers. The jumpsuit was backless, so she would skip the bra. Sandor chuckled as she pulled up the pants, then the front of the garment, two wide straps that covered her from waist to shoulder, leaving a small triangle of skin bare at her navel. The straps crossed in front, then again high on her back, the ends that attached to the back of her waistband thinner than the front.

The choice of outfit was strategic. She knew Petyr would want her to wear a dress, preferably something sweet and girlish. The choice of what skin to show was also strategic. Not the legs or cleavage, which were the obvious choices. The outfit was adult, sophisticated, professional, and hopefully a big fuck you to Petyr.

“That’s just torture,” Sandor commented from the bed as she slipped on her heels.

She turned to smile at him. “Oh?”

“You’re going to be out all night, and I have to stay here and think about how you’re braless under there, just a little piece of fabric between you and all those greedy men?”

“Are you jealous?” she teased, selecting a slim, black pocketbook accented with gold studs. She tested it out and found that it did fit into the voluminous pockets of the oversized pants, another reason she loved the jumpsuit. She took it out again and filled it with her phone, wallet, keys, and lipstick.

“Maybe. But I’m the one who’ll get to take it off tonight.”

“Damn right.”

Sandor followed her downstairs, checked on the frozen pizza he had in the oven. Sansa laughed at his dinner choice.

“You eat like a kid when I’m not around, don’t you.”

He shrugged. “Just always seems like too much work to cook just for myself.”

She checked the time on her phone. Five till 6.

“Is Arya meeting you there?” Sandor asked, grabbing the oven mitt and pulling out the rack with the pizza on it, carefully maneuvering the pizza from the rack and onto the pizza box.

“You’re so good at that, I always make a mess. She’s meeting me here in a few minutes.”

She took down the bottle of vodka and poured herself a shot.

“Why did she want to go, anyway? Would have thought she’d hate stuffy events like that.”

“I don’t know, but she insisted. God, I really hope she’s not going to cause trouble.” Sansa dug through the mail on the table by the front door, found her invitation and slipped it into her pocket.

“Yes, especially if I’m not there.”

The door opened and Arya stuck her head in. “Ready?”

Sansa gasped. “Arya, get in here! What are you wearing?”

Arya stepped inside. “What?”

She looked amazing, but so uncharacteristic for her that Sansa couldn’t help but stare. Her hair was pulled back in an elegant bun, a wave of side-bangs framing her face. Her makeup was flawless, skin creamy and glowing, long dark lashes, and a bright red lip. She was wearing a tailored pants suit, pants so tight it looked like they were painted on, a white-button down shirt buttoned all the way up to the collar, as well as a set of black suspenders. Over it, she wore a black jacket, sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“Damn, Arya.” Sansa turned to stare at Sandor, who blushed. “What? She looks good?”

“Thank you, Sandor. To answer your question, Sansa, I am wearing a suit. It’s appropriate for a funeral.”

“Man, I almost wish I was going,” Sandor chuckled as he cut the pizza into slices. “Well, not really.”

Sansa leaned over and kissed Sandor on the cheek. “Don’t wait up.”

“Ha! No way! I want to hear about this when you get back.”

The entire way to the gala, all six blocks to the ritzy hotel Baelish always bought out, Sansa cajoled, pleaded, demanded, threatened, but Arya refused to tell Sansa what she was planning. Outside the front doors to the hotel, Arya stopped and faced her sister.

“Sansa, do you trust me?”

Sansa sighed softly. “Of course I trust you.”

“I won’t do anything to embarrass you. But Petyr Baelish has gone too far, and he needs to be reminded.”

“Of what?”

“Whose bitch he is.”

Arya swung open the door, and Sansa had to run to keep up. She presented her invitation to the attendant in a suit outside the ballroom, then led Arya into the room.

The party was in full swing, and, as always, it was a swanky affair. Petyr fancied himself very sophisticated, and his fundraisers (an interesting concept, since Sansa was certain they cost as much as they raised) were always a very extravagant event. A string quartet played in the corner, and servers circulated, bearing trays of champagne. Sansa and Arya both accepted a glass.

“They can’t just have a bar, people have to have their drinks brought to them?” Arya quipped, rolling her eyes.

“That’s Petyr for you.”

“Speaking of which, where is the squid?”

Sansa scanned the room. He was talking with Dany and a few of the other dancers, standing rather too closely to Jeyne, of course. Arya spotted him and set off across the room. Sansa followed her, trying not to look panicked.

But if Arya’s appearance that evening had surprised her, her behavior now was even more jarring. She joined the conversation smoothly, laughing and greeting Petyr.

“Arya, how lovely to see you. Sansa didn’t tell me you were coming,” he greeted Arya cordially enough, although Sansa noted he didn’t attempt to shake Arya’s hand, or hug her, or kiss her cheek, as he always did with the dancers. And was that a flash of panic she’d seen on his face?

“I just thought I’d surprise you.” She smiled sweetly at Petyr, but Sansa knew her sister. There was something devious ticking behind that outward calm.

Petyr turned towards the other dancers. “Ladies, would you excuse me, please? I need to catch up with an old family friend.”

The girls all smiled and nodded, but when Petyr turned his back to lead Arya away, Margaery shot a questioning glance at Sansa. Sansa shook her head and held up empty hands, then turned to follow. She saw Margaery, Jeyne, and Dany all start to whisper together. Was that what Arya wanted? To get the gossip mill started?

“Old family friend, that’s an interesting choice of words. How old am I, Petyr?” Arya asked loudly, a drop of acid in her voice. People from other groups around them caught the raised tones, looked at them curiously.

“Arya, I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Petyr replied calmly.

“Twenty-two, Petyr. I’m twenty-two.”

“My how you’ve grown,” he replied, voice steely.

“So how old would I have been six years ago?”

Petyr’s calm exterior broke. He lowered his voice, eyes beseeching. “Arya, I am begging you. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Arya smiled, one eyebrow cocked. When she spoke again, her voice was cool, even, but she did lower her volume. “You were supposed to be minding my manners before this. How can I possibly trust you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Lie to me again, I send it to the newspapers.”

“All right, I know I shouldn’t have been flirting with Jeyne, but she’s an adult, she can make her own choices.”

Arya looked over her shoulder towards the entrance to the ballroom. “Oh look, it’s Varys and the rest of the board. I’m sure they’d love to hear this. Maybe they can decide if you’ve been sticking to our agreement.”

“What do you want? I’ll do it. Just don’t make a scene.”

Arya turned back to Petyr, a murderous expression in her eyes that made even Sansa quake. When she spoke, her voice was sharp as a knife. “Baelish, if my sister here hadn’t already made me promise, I would make a scene that would turn your greasy hair on end. But since I love my sister, I will grant you this one small mercy. This is my price. Tomorrow, you resign.”

Petyr opened his mouth to sputter, but Arya cut him off, all sweetness and throaty purr now. “Now, don’t bother protesting, because you know you have no choice. You can stay and enjoy your evening tonight, but tomorrow, Sansa had better text me and report that your resignation has been announced, with immediate effect. If you don’t, I’ll call Varys. And then I’ll call the New York Times. I’m sure their Arts section would be happy to report on what you get up to when you’re not producing the same six ballets over and over. And then I’ll call the police.”

Petyr shut his mouth resolutely. “That’s that, is it?”

“Maybe you should have thought twice before firing that oaf. I’m actually quite fond of him.”

Arya took a swig of the champagne, hummed in approval. “Delicious. You really do go all out, don’t ya, Petey.”

Petyr looked as dismal and defeated as he ever had. He turned to Sansa for help, but Sansa just smiled and shook her head.

“That’s all, Uncle Pete,” Arya sang sweetly, a smug smirk on her face, then gestured her dismissal. Petyr stalked away without a word, past groups of partygoers, ignoring their calls and heading straight to the kitchens to sulk.

Sansa turned to her sister, who was smugly chugging her champagne. “What the fuck did you just do?”

“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anyone. Obviously, if this leaks, I don’t have any blackmail over him.” She dug her phone out of her pocket, unlocked it, and opened up her email, navigating to the drafts, then handed the phone over to Sansa.

The send to was blank, and Sansa realized it was just where Arya was storing the information. “The pics are also on thumb drives in my dorm room and your house,” Arya explained.

They were screenshots of a text conversation between Arya and a phone number Sansa didn’t recognize. Arya apparently hadn’t either. **My sweet, I cannot contain myself any longer** . Then Arya: **Who’s this?** The sender identified himself as Petyr, then promptly began to confess his love. Sansa gaped at the detailed, graphic descriptions of what she made him feel, what he wanted to do to her, and then two dick pics, of an adorably small penis that looked like it was trying its best.

Sansa made a disgusted face. “Oh Arya, that’s disgusting.”

“Keep reading.”

Finally, in the messages, Arya confronted Petyr, asking him why he was texting a child. It turns out, Petyr thought he was texting Sansa. Sansa and Arya got cell phones for the first time when Sansa was 18, and Arya was 16, and they had very similar numbers, only off by one digit at the end. Sansa shut her eyes and handed the phone back to Arya.

“I’ve been using it as blackmail ever since.” Arya snagged a fresh glass of champagne off a passing server, left her empty one on a nearby table. “When I heard he was pursuing the underage dancers, I let him know that I would send that to the police if he ever touched one of the dancers in his troupe. Sending pornography to an underage girl, he might not get jail time, but his reputation would be ruined. And don’t forget, he only started sending that shit when you were barely legal.”

“What a fucking creep,” Sansa fumed, chugging down her champagne. “Can I go kick him in the balls?”

Arya looked sympathetic. “I’m sorry. I should have told you a long time ago. I just wanted to shield you from it, if I could.”

“It’s ok. I think it’s really sweet you were protecting me. It’s supposed to be me protecting you, you know.”

Arya shrugged. “You’d have done the same for me.”

She looked around the party, bored. “You think that quartet knows any songs by The Clash?”

Sansa scrunched up her nose. “Probably not. But you can get out of here if you want.”

“Nah, I’m going to stalk Baelish all night. Besides, I never turn down free booze.”

Sansa arrived home late, Arya splitting an uber with her, as they were both delightfully drunk. Sansa tried to sneak in quietly, carrying her heels, but ended up knocking over the table by the door.

“Sansa, is that you?”

She looked up to see Sandor walking through the kitchen. “Shhhh!!!’ she hissed.

“Why are we being quiet?” he whispered, turning off the security alarm and shutting and locking the door.

“Don’t want to wake Sandor,” Sansa giggled.

Sandor rolled his eyes as he reset the alarm. “Come on drunky, Sandor’s already awake.”

He made Sansa walk ahead of him, though he ended up slinging her over her shoulder and carrying her up. He deposited her gently on the bed, began undressing her, starting with gently untangling her gold hoops and removing them from her ears.

“You’re very good at that,” she observed.

“Even better at this,” he laughed, pulling down the straps of her jumpsuit, helping her to wiggle out of it.

“I think you’re enjoying this,” Sansa sang.

“Well, I’m not miserable,” he admitted. He helped her into a T-shirt, then helped her into bed.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere,” he said, pinching her nose.

He returned with a glass of water and two ibuprofen. He made Sansa sit up and take the pills then finish the glass. Then he undressed and joined her in bed.

“Did you have a nice time?” he asked as Sansa curled up to his chest.

“Oh yes. You won’t believe when you hear what Arya did.”

Sandor kissed her on the forehead and turned out the light. “You can tell me in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An oldie but a goodie: Baelish gets fucked by two women, but not the way he wanted to.
> 
> Hope it was everything you ever dreamed of!!! Next week, opening night!


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening night has finally arrived. Sansa helps Olenna cope during Petyr's absence, Sandor lucks into a job opportunity, and Sansa takes the stage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here!!! Sorry for the wait, writing about ballet is hard, lol! May only be a few more chapters left, I feel like the story is pretty much wrapping up.

Sandor shook his head after hearing Sansa’s story. “Fuck, I owe that little wolf a drink, now.”

He turned off the skillet, slid half of the eggs onto Sansa’s plate, half onto his, adding two triangles of toast to each, and a few strips of bacon just to his. Sandor took a bite of eggs and chewed thoughtfully.

“What did Baelish do afterward?”

Sansa sipped her coffee, washing down the toast. “Basically, hid out in the kitchen half the night. Eventually, he realized Arya wasn’t leaving, so he told Varys he wasn’t feeling well, and left him in charge of the party, and ran.”

“You think he’ll follow through?” Sandor asked.

Sansa nodded. “There’s nothing Petyr hates more than a scandal. Besides, knowing him, he’ll turn it into a career move. Head out to the West Coast, or London even. He’ll choose the strategic retreat over outright victory every time. Maybe even try to return in five years when he thinks Arya’s given up.”

“That doesn’t sound like Arya.”

Sansa smirked. “It’s not. That’s why she’s going to leak to a gossip columnist at New York Magazine about the real reason he’s leaving. In a few weeks, maybe, after he’s announced where he’s going”

“She’ll lose her blackmail material.”

“Nah, she won’t give them proof. Just enough of a rumor. Someone’ll post it on Twitter, and then it’ll be enough for the magazine to publish. Just a little unfounded ruin to nip at his heels to remind him not to come back.”

Sandor shook his head again and sipped his tea. “The little wolf.” He almost sounded like he admired her.

  
  


After breakfast, Sansa packed up her bag to head out to the theatre to get ready for the show. Being in a new location, there were so many things to transport from the practice studio dressing room: makeup, ballet shoes, file and sewing kit for ballet shoes, extra pairs of tights, plus a few trinkets and good luck objects, like the first pair of shoes she wore in a professional show, and practical items like the tube of lipstick in the only shade of red that actually looked good on her.

Sandor asked why she was leaving so early, after Sansa asked him for the third time if he had his and Shae’s tickets for opening night.

“I don’t want to miss Petyr’s announcement! Besides, I’m a bundle of nerves right now. I’ll unwind once I get down there, but if I stay, I’ll just bounce off the walls.”

Sandor pulled her close, kissing her neck, stubble dragging against her skin. “I can think of something else to help you unwind.”

Sansa melted into his arms, the bottom of her stomach already dropping out and knees going limp like cooked noodles. Sansa pulled away from Sandor after a few minutes, resting her cheek against his chest. “Olenna won’t thank you if you get me all blotchy right before a performance.”

Sandor grunted as he kissed the top of her head. “Should I shave, then?”

Sansa laughed, leaning back to look up at him. “I can’t imagine you clean-shaven. You’d be like a stranger.”

He grinned at that, bending back down to kiss her neck, though taking care not to drag his stubble across her neck. “Oh, I’m doing it now.”

“Or you could just invest in some beard oil,” Sansa laughed, twisting away from him.

He looked at her questioningly and Sansa kissed him goodbye. “Beards don’t have to be scratchy, you know.”

Sandor kissed the top of her head once more, squeezing her ass for a moment before letting her go. “Noted. Knock ‘em dead, gorgeous.”

Sansa glanced behind her once as she shut and locked the door behind her, grinned at the sight of Sandor half-crouched over her sink (their sink, she reminded herself), rinsing off dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. It never failed to surprise her, the domesticity of this man who used to frighten the wits out of half the dancing corps.

She turned on her headphones and started playing some fun, upbeat music, to get her in the mood. It was a slightly longer walk to the performing center, but she didn’t mind. It was a beautiful fall morning, the temperature a crisp 50 degrees. She sipped her coffee as she walked, bristling when she got caught behind some slow-walking tourists, taking pictures of the buildings, but she was able to skirt around them eventually, and continue at her brisk pace.

When she arrived at the building, she was amused to see Margaery, Dany, and a few of the other principal ballerinas smoking out front, in a little alcove ten feet or so from the door. Sansa smirked and put away her headphones. The fact that they were openly smoking could mean only one thing, Petyr was out, and it had been made public, or at least the gossip had.

She pulled out a cigarette, bummed a light from Dany as Margaery filled her in on what they knew, sending and receiving texts at a rapid pace as they spoke. Margaery had half of the New York ballerinas’ phone numbers in her phone, and was connected with all of the others on Twitter.

“Ok,” she started with no preamble, (Margaery took gossip very seriously), “here’s what we know. First, Baelish was acting very strangely last night.”

A few of the other girls nodded, and agreed. “So strange,” one younger blonde whose name Sansa couldn’t remember chimed in, sounding like a well-rehearsed chorus member.

“I don’t know what your sister said to him, but it sure shook him up,” Dany observed, punctuating the comment with a casual drag on her cigarette.

Sansa adopted her most innocent expression. “I can’t think what she would have said to upset him. I mean, she can be very brusque.”

Margaery frowned, looked up from her phone to fix Sansa with a disapproving look. “Knock it off, San. You’re not that good of an actress.”

Sansa shrugged. “I promised my sister I wouldn’t tell. Let’s just say, we all owe her.”

Margaery nodded solemnly. “Fuck yeah, we do. Anyway, I went by the studio to get something from my locker, wink wink, and Baelish’s office was cleaned out. Like furniture, personal belongings, gone. Then half an hour ago, Olenna made an Announcement.” This last she said in an important voice, a smile finally cracking across her somber expression. She paused for effect.

“What announcement?” Sansa asked, since Margaery clearly wanted a little prodding.

“Baelish has resigned, effective immediately. Olenna is in charge of the Company until the board elects a permanent replacement.”

“It’s not that unusual for ballet companies to go through leadership changes. He had been in charge for a long time,” Sansa tried to reason, but Margaery wasn’t having it.

“He founded the company, he’d stab himself in the eye before he let anyone else run this place. Remember when they tried to give last year’s Nutcracker away to someone else? He about had a fit. Over a show we do every year, that we hardly even need to rehearse anymore, cause it’s not like anything about it ever changes, except maybe who’s dancing the lead.”

“I remember.”

“He just willingly quit? Must have been some dirt your sister had on him.”

Sansa put out her cigarette, dropped it into the improvised ashcan one of the girls was holding. “Has. Like I said, if you see her at the wrap party tonight, buy her a drink. And don’t ask questions!”

She headed inside, then back to the dressing rooms. Olenna had left a note shoved under the door of her cramped room: _Come see me. I’m backstage_.

She found Olenna eventually, holding a cup of what looked suspiciously like white wine, directing some of the backstage crew as they rehung some of the lights. She spotted Sansa and sighed piteously.

“You just had to use your blackmail last night, huh?” Olenna groaned, leaning in to kiss Sansa’s cheek.

Sansa was aghast, she hadn’t thought of the effect that Arya’s bombshell would have on Olenna. The poor woman looked exteremely harassed, like she needed a cup of coffee, a stiff drink, a long night’s sleep, or maybe all at once.

“I’m sorry, it was my sister. I had no idea what she was going to do, and she’s a little impulsive. What can I do to help?”

Olenna barked an order at a crewman, who shifted one of the lights imperceptibly until Olenna seemed to be satisfied. Then she ordered him to check all of the footlights. After he left, she turned to Sansa with a sigh.

“I need you to take charge of the girls tonight. Maybe you and Margaery together can keep them in hand? Just make sure they are dressed in time, make them warm-up. Don’t let them smoke out front after 4, that’s when the critics start arriving.”

“Ok, I will. Dany’s outside, maybe she would help too, even if it is her day off. I’ll go find her and see.”

Sansa prepared to leave, but Olenna reached out a hand and stopped her, seeming to remember something.

“Are you still seeing that piano player? Sandor?”

“Yes.”

“Does he want his job back? Perhaps a promotion to music director?”

Sansa tried not to gape. “That’s quite a promotion.”

“Well I’m quite desperate. Baelish fired the last musical director and never hired a replacement, and I know nothing about what they need. And Sandor knows us, knows how we operate. I need someone to take the orchestra in hand, just while they’re arriving and warming up, and oversee the sound setup. His work will be over by the time the show starts, they already have a conductor. Text him,” she commanded Sansa, who pulled out her phone from her back pocket obediently.

“Tell him I will approve a $300 payment to him, since it’s so last minute. If he decides not to accept the rehearsal position again, he will still get paid for the afternoon.”

She sent two texts filling Sandor in on the situation, then the three dots popped up, indicating he was typing a response. “What time do you need him?” Sansa read to Olenna.

“Orchestra doesn’t arrive until 2 PM.”

She typed in the response, then got a reply a few seconds later. “He can be here at 2:15.”

Olenna sighed gratefully, clutching a hand to her chest. “Perfect! He’s hired.”

“I just told him about the gig today, suppose you can talk to him about the other stuff tomorrow,” Sansa said as she typed out a quick response to Sandor and hit send.

“Quite right.” Olenna heaved a deep sigh. Weeks of tension seemed to roll off her shoulders. On impulse, Sansa leaned forward and hugged her dance mentor, feeling her surprise in the stiffness of her body, but then eventually relaxing, softening, one arm wrapping around Sansa’s back. After a few moments, Olenna pushed her away.

“Enough, you’ll ruin my reputation as the dragon lady. Go on, I must get back to work.”

Sansa left with a quick smile, found Dany still hanging out by the front entrance. She told both Dany and Margaery about Olenna, that she was now having to do at least three people’s jobs. “We’re going to help her out with the corps and the other principal dancers, just make sure they warm up and don’t cause too much trouble before the performance.”

Dany and Margaery both agreed to help, Dany before the show, Margary after, whenever she wasn’t performing of course. Margaery promised to text SmallJon (which she started to do in the middle of telling Sansa she would) and he would happily keep the boys in line.

“Is there anyone who’s phone number you don’t have?” Sansa asked teasingly.

“Sandor’s,” Margaery replied playfully, arching one eyebrow.

Sansa’s smile fell, and she pointed at Margaery as she turned to leave. “You should be grateful for that!”

Dany cackled. “Protective of her man, huh?”

“Damn straight,” Sansa called back as she opened the door.

Sansa spent the rest of her morning in her dressing room, setting out all of her supplies. Then she headed to the small rehearsal space, just in her regular clothes, to begin stretching and start her pre-show routine. Margaery and the other principal dancers were there as well, and Sansa sat near them, running through her routine that was half stretches, half yoga poses, listening to the other girls’ gossip. She didn’t find it annoying or distracting anymore, as she might have once done.

By early afternoon, all the dancers had arrived. They normally split into two groups after lunch (a quick meal eaten standing up outside, usually consisting of a small sandwich and maybe a bag of chips, as Olenna discouraged heavy meals the day of a performance), usually the principal dancers in one room and the corps in another, but Sansa instructed them to split with the boys in one room and the girls in another, so the more experienced principals could more-or-less babysit the younger ones.

It wasn’t as big of a job as she’d thought. She, Dany, Margaery, and Jeyne took the girls in groups to the locker rooms to change, then Dany babysat while the others put on their makeup, allowing Sansa, amd the _quatre_ (Margaery, Jeyne, Myrcella, and Ros) to go get changed, Sansa in her individual dressing room, the others in their communal dressing room.

First thing after Sansa shut the door behind her, she sank onto her little stool and sighed deeply. It was her first moment of quiet and solitude since she’d arrived at 9 AM. She glanced at her phone as she plugged it in to charge: 3 PM. Curtains up in 3 hours.

It seemed like a long time, but Sansa knew time would start to fly-by soon. So she pulled on her white tights over the special Olenna-approved flesh-toned underwear that was specially made for ballet dancers to stay in place and prevent both riding up and flashing. Then came the white leotard. There would be more costuming later, of course: a feathery headdress and a giant fluffy tutu, but for now, she donned a gauzy wrap-skirt, a pair of leg warmers (to protect her tights from floor marks) and then began to lace up her ballet shoes.

She had just finished tying the second shoe when someone knocked very quietly at her door. “Come in,” she called, hacking at the toe of her left shoe with the file to sand off a spot that was too smooth. She pointed her toe and dragged her shoe across the floor, satisfied with the traction she now had. The door opened a crack, and she looked up to spy Sandor’s abashed grin.

“Am I allowed?”

Sansa couldn’t help but giggle. “I don’t know, will you fit?”

Sandor shot her a level look as he squeezed inside and shut the door. “Now where have I heard that before?”

She giggled again as she stood and gave him a quick kiss.

“How’s your day been? Olenna running you ragged?” Sandor asked, hands settling on her waist.

“No, it hasn’t been too bad. Dany and Margaery have been helping out.”

Sandor cocked an eyebrow and made a “hmm” noise.

“What about you?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Easiest gig I’ve ever done. I’d take that lot over the kids anyday.”

Sansa was bubbling with impatience to ask him about the music director position, but she’d told Olenna she wouldn’t say anything, and she was resolved to stick to her word. She didn’t want it to sound like she had gotten him a job, when in reality, she’d had almost nothing to do with it.

“Plus, she upgraded my seats. Said Baelish wouldn’t be needing them anymore.”

Sansa glanced at the tickets, and knew exactly where the seats were. Not front row, but pretty close, a few rows back where the conductor wouldn’t block the view of the stage. She noted he had six tickets.

“Baelish always did take the best seats for himself. Six tickets?”

“She gave me hers too. Said she didn’t have anyone coming anyway. For your family.”

Sansa couldn’t help laughing at the idea of Baelish’s blackmailer sitting in his seats. “You should invite Shae to the after-party, if she’s free. No board members this time, or stuffy string quartets. We go to a bar and go crazy.”

Sandor scoffed. “Don’t you have to dance again tomorrow?”

“Not until night. Besides, we never stay out too late, most of us are five-pound lightweights.”

Sandor slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her handily, to Sansa’s delight. “Five pounds soaking wet, maybe.”

“I will be, if you keep that up.”

She watched a flush of red wash over his cheeks, feeling that same giddy high as the first time she’d made him blush. “Ah. Maybe I should get out of here, then. Don’t want to bring down the wrath of the dragon lady.”

Sansa slipped her arms around his neck. “Heaven forbid,” she murmured before popping up on pointe to kiss him, closing the gap between them from eight inches to two.

She grinned at him after breaking the kiss. “Always wanted to do that.”

“All right, I’m going, but we’re definitely going to have to revisit that.” He pressed his hip against her lower belly to illustrate his feelings.

“Count on it,” Sansa replied with a grin, holding the door open as Sandor squeezed through the tiny frame. Sansa laughed and slapped his ass as he went, then grabbed her bag and headed back to the rehearsal room. A tiny ping sounded from her phone as she walked.

**Was I right to come see you? I didn’t want to mess you up if you were in the zone, or something.**

Sansa grinned like the lovesick fool she was. She typed out a response: **It was perfect, got all my jitters out**. She added a kissy emoji for good measure, and went back to warm-ups. Just like that she knew, same as she knew she’d had the part after making out with Sandor in the back alley, all her anxiety washing away so she could see things as they really were, not as she feared. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew it was going to be a perfect night.

  
  
  


Sandor had texted Shae to let her know of the slight change in plans. He went outside to meet her, smoking a cigarette a few doors down from the main entrance to the performing arts center. He stumbled upon two corps dancers sharing a cigarette, so engrossed in their gossip about Baelish that they didn’t notice him until his shadow fell over them. The two looked up at him with shocked expressions, eyes round and staring.

“You’d better get out of here before Olenna catches you.”

The two scampered off without a word, slipping into a side door, letting it shut behind them.

“Still scaring the girls, huh?” He heard Shae’s soft voice with it’s slight accent. He gave her a quick hug.

“Not on purpose. Just comes naturally. How’s the Bar?”

“They’re doing well. Not that you’d know, since you never come to see us anymore. You’re still seeing Sansa?”

He nodded. “Kinda moved in with her.”

Shae smiled, beaming, really. “That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you.”

Sandor checked his phone, a text from Arya letting him know they were a few minutes away. Sandor put out his cigarette, finger-combed his hair away from his face.

Shae smiled knowingly. “Why do you look nervous?”

“Sansa’s family is joining us. Her aunt, and her brothers and sister. I’ve only met them a few times.”

Shae dug in her purse, pulled out a little bottle of Febreeze. “Here, you smell like an ashtray.”

She spritzed his shirt a few times, then fixed his crooked collar. “There. You look decent.”

“Gee, thanks,” Sandor quipped. He spotted Lysa and Arya walking down the sidewalk from the subway. He raised his hand in a quick hello, feeling a little self-conscious.

As soon as Lysa was near enough, she called a bright, cheery welcome. She pulled Sandor in for a hug, Sandor patting her back awkwardly until she let him go.

“Sandor, it feels like it’s been weeks since I saw you. How are you, dear?”

Sandor was about to reply that it had been a week exactly since she’d last seen him, but Lysa had fluttered off to a new topic, the traffic, and how nice the weather was, until she trailed off. Having spotted a new person, she was all smiles, looking between Sandor and Shae expectantly. Shae was looking at him too and he finally realized he was supposed to do introductions.

“Oh, sorry. Lysa, this is Shae, she’s kind of my adopted-sister. Shae, this is Sansa’s aunt Lysa, her brothers Bran and Rickon and her-”

“Sister?” Arya interrupted, one eyebrow cocked. She held out her hand to Shae, and when Shae took it to shake, Arya bore the lovely hand to her mouth and kissed the back of it. “I’m Arya, and you’re gorgeous.”

“Down girl,” Lysa murmured. “Well, should we go in?”

Shae agreed, suppressing a grin as Arya not only refused to release her hand, but tucked the hand into the crook of her arm, leading Shae towards the entrance. Shae turned her head slightly to give Sandor a comical look, mouth pursed into a pout, eyes wide, eyebrows pitched towards her hairline.

“Oh dear,” Lysa fretted to Sandor in a low voice. “I can take her out and hose her down if needed.”

“Ah, don’t fuss. Shae can hold her own. If the attention is unwanted, she won’t be shy about making that fact known.” Sandor offered Lysa his arm, who accepted it with a girlish titter.

He presented their tickets to the ticket taker, then the usher, who saw them quickly to their seats in the third row.

“However did Sansa get us such good seats!” Lysa exclaimed, removing her jacket before she sat, looking up at the beautiful performance hall.

“Apparently a bird flew the coop and left them behind,” Sandor said with a knowing glance towards Arya. She took her seat with a smug smile on her face. Arya chose the end seat, next to Shae. The boys sat on the other end, with Lysa and Sandor in the middle, Lysa next to the boys, Sandor next to Shae.

Arya entertained Shae, asking questions about where she was from, what she did. Sandor turned toward Lysa, asked how she had been since they saw each other the week previous.

“Was that last week? Feels like forever. I’ve been well. The boys have their allergies acting up again, poor dears. So I have plenty of tissue and cough drops, if you should need one. Just nudge my elbow and I’ll be happy to hand you one. Once for tissue, twice for cough drop, how does that sound?”

“And does your boyfriend work at the bar?” Sandor heard Arya ask, and rolled his eyes.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend,” Shae replied, and Sandor was relieved to hear she was still in good humor about the whole thing.

“And your girlfriend, she doesn’t mind you working those late nights?”

“If I had a girlfriend, I imagine she’d be laid back, she’d never mind if I was out late. And I bet she’d have blue hair.”

Arya sighed deeply, like a smitten schoolgirl. She, of course, had short hair currently dyed dark blue, though it had been purple when he’d first met her. The house lights began to dim, and Sandor almost groaned in relief. The show would start soon, and maybe then Arya would stop awkwardly hitting on his sort-of sister.

A few minutes later the lights dimmed down to dark, and a spotlight came up on the stage. The crowd hushed as Olenna emerged, looking a little nervous. She welcomed them, did a customary spiel on silencing phones, and then the performance began.

The beginning was boring, to Sandor at least. He didn’t find the music very interesting, and it was the prince’s bit, with that little git Loras prancing all across the stage, in some kind of revel that represented how fancy and cultured the palace set were: young maidens in flowing, gossamer frocks, a dignified man in black who was the prince’s tutor, the prince’s men-at-arms, a jester who did a dance with cups. It was all foppery and flourish, and didn’t do much to advance the story.

Sandor recognized the two girls he’d surprised outside. They were pretty enough, and light on their feet, but he thought to himself that they were nothing compared to Sansa, either in looks or dancing. He found his mind wandering as the first act unfolded, thinking about some chores he wanted to do around the house that weekend, maybe tomorrow while Sansa was performing. The bathroom sink in the guest bathroom was draining very slowly, and he noticed that the toilet ran far longer than it should have. There were also a few kitchen cabinets that slammed, he wanted to put in stoppers to prevent that. While he was at it, he would fix the fridge light, which flickered on and off sometimes, probably just needed tightening.

Before he knew it, Act Two was beginning, with the prince and his men-at-arms taking up crossbows to go shoot defenseless swans, which was apparently a very regal and manly thing to do. Sandor snorted to himself, causing Shae to glance at him sideways.

Rothbart appeared, dancing very dramatically. In his dark getup, Sandor hardly recognized Smalljon. He danced a small interlude, observing the prince about to shoot one of his swans, then departed. The prince decided not to shoot the beautiful ballerina who emerged from offstage, her flaming red hair bound loosely at the name of her neck, strands threatening to escape and spill down her back as she delicately tiptoed into view. Lysa gripped Sandor’s arm, and he couldn’t help grinning as she made her first pass across the stage, leaping graceful as a doe.

She spotted the prince and ran away terrified, and Sandor was struck by her emotion, the way she easily conveyed her fear through her face and her body, arms bent and vulnerable, feet tripping lightly across the stage. Eventually she overcame her fear to dance with the prince, and Sandor couldn’t help feeling a little bit jealous, at Loras’s hands on her waist, where his had rested only hours before. But he reminded himself who would be kissing her tonight, the way she had kissed him that afternoon- He had to redirect his thoughts, since her aunt was sitting right next to him.

“She’s beautiful,” Lysa whispered to him, and he turned to her and smiled and nodded his agreement.

The troupe of swans came onstage, in two lines, with Sansa dancing down the center, outshining them all without even trying. He loved how she didn’t do any of that arm flapping that the other swans did. She didn’t have to wave her arms to make you think she was a bird, it was in the lightness of her feet, the strength and poise of her jumps, her delicate, serene expression that he recognized from rehearsal.

Sansa and Loras danced together, although Sandor thought it was more like Sansa used Loras as a balancing beam, as she spun and stepped around him, en pointe, executing impossibly high leg lifts, bending forward so far she could have touched the ground, returning to standing, muscles never so much as twitching. Loras lifted her as she performed immaculate splits, two in a row, then returning to standing, pirouetting, repeating the sequence again with minor variations. The music was perfect, as delicate and soft as Sansa’s feet, flutes piping, tremulous but never shrill.

Then a coquettish sequence, where Sansa danced away, and Loras followed, taking her waist each time and supporting her as she fell forward, as though fainting with joy, or holding her hand above her as she spun. Sandor particularly enjoyed a few backwards leg lifts where Sansa could have kicked Loras in the back of the head if she’d wanted to, her foot extended up so far behind her it was level with the back of Loras’s head as he held her waist.

Then it was time for the _pas des deux_ , four swans dancing with linked arms, feet moving in intricate synchronization. Sandor recognized Margaery and Jeyne, but didn’t know the other two. They danced well, but Sandor waited impatiently for Sansa to return.

Finally, it was time for the finale to the act, Sansa dancing the same piece she had auditioned with. Could it only have been two months ago? She was somehow even more radiant that she had been that day, executing the pass of intricate pirouettes flawlessly. She exited the stage again, to allow the corps of swans to dance once more, and to catch her breath, of course. Sandor knew the story, had read the program, and knew that by this time Odette and the prince Siegfried were in love, though he had always wondered how even a fictional character could possibly fall in love within the confines of a fifteen-minute dance. He felt like he knew now, could identify with these emotions. As Loras lifted Sansa for the triumphant end to the scene, Sandor realized he had fallen for Sansa that day, when it felt like she was dancing just for him. Maybe it wasn’t the true love that breaks curses, but it was the closest thing he’d ever felt to love at first sight.

Rothbart reappeared, and the dancers melted away offstage, turning back into swans. Sansa danced off alone this time, her sorrow emanating from every muscle in her body, from her expression, eyebrows puckered in the center, hands moving slowly and solemnly now. The curtain fell and the lights came up for intermission, and Sandor realized he was speechless.

Lysa stood with everyone else, chattering about how wonderful it was, and didn’t Sansa look beautiful? And how wonderfully Margaery and the other swans had danced, just wonderful. Sandor nodded along, of course, but was grateful when Lysa and the boys left to go get some water, use the restroom. Shae stayed behind, and Sandor finally realized she was watching him, an almost pitying expression on her face.

“You all right?” she asked him, laying a comforting hand on his arm.

“Fuck, I think I love that girl.”

Shae shook his arm lightly. “Of course you do. You’re more lovestruck than the prince!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was worth the wait! Next week, after-party!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Sandor attend the after-party for the first performance of Swan Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After party!!! Theater and performing arts kids going nuts!!! Lol. Hope you like it.

Sansa changed out of her costume backstage, leaving everything but her phone and wallet behind. She was looking forward to a fun night out with no encumbrances. She’d brought a cute tank top dress just for the occasion, silver and sequined and low-cut. She had removed her makeup, and now just drew on a little eyeliner and mascara, along with a swipe of her favorite lipstick.

The dress had one tiny pocket, just big enough for her phone and cards. She shut off the light and left her dressing room, locking up after herself with her keys that hung around her neck from a lanyard. When she turned, Sandor was standing there with a big bouquet of flowers, lilies and freesias. Sansa smiled in delight, leaning forward to inhale their heady fragrance. Then she tilted her head up to kiss Sandor.

“What’s the occasion?” she joked, taking the flowers and holding them behind his head so she could pull him closer.

“Well, my girlfriend is this amazing ballerina, and she just performed her first lead role to thunderous applause,” Sandor replied with a grin, pushing her up against the dressing room door.

“If the walls of my dressing room weren’t paper-thin, I’d take you in there and fuck you,” Sansa purred, kissing him again, her free hand tangling in his long hair.

“I’m tempted to do it anyway,” he murmured against her mouth. Sansa giggled and turned, unlocking the dressing room door once more to stow her flowers inside. Sandor glanced around the tiny room and grunted.

“Shit this place is smaller than I remembered. I retract my offer of dressing room sex.”

Sansa giggled. “Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

She returned a few minutes later with a whiskey bottle, the neck broken off, and half-full of water. She dropped the flowers in the makeshift vase and set them on her little countertop, next to her makeup and feather crown.

“Beautiful. Thank you, I love them.”

She locked the door again, and they headed out to the side entrance. Sandor offered to hold her keys for her, slipping them into his pockets.

“Won’t you be cold?” he asked, eyeing the skimpy dress, with its spaghetti straps, thin material, and hemline that barely skimmed the tops of her thighs.

“ _ Pfft! _ You know I don’t get cold! Besides,” she siddled closer to Sandor, sliding her arm around his waist, “that’s what I’ve got you for, right?”

Sandor stopped at the back door, one hand on the bar to push open the door, the other around Sansa’s waist. He leaned over to nuzzle at her neck, lips just barely gliding over her skin, raising goosebumps on her arms and neck.

“Hope you don’t want to stay out too late. I’m very much looking forward to taking you home and ripping that dress off you.”

Sansa barely suppressed a shiver as her lips found his, the barest pressure of his mouth making her legs go slightly rubbery. She grinned as he straightened, pushing open the back door.

“Maybe just a quick drink, then.”

  
  


It ended up being a short, but memorable, night out. The slightly exasperated, but patient, wait staff at the bar pointed her to an upper floor that the Company had taken over for the evening. Sansa knew from experience that the ballet dancers would be raucous and get well and truly sloshed (especially the girls who for the most part were thin as rails and had low tolerances) but would tip well. The upstairs seating area had its own bar, and most of the other patrons had already learned to stay downstairs, steering clear of the loud group of dancers and plus-ones.

Margaery was there, cozying up with Smalljon. After a few drinks, she ended up in his lap, his hands firmly planted on her ass. Dany was there with a huge guy, who almost made Sandor look normal-sized, with a wicked grin and a scar over one eyebrow. Dany lit up when she saw Sansa, dragged the four of them to the bar to buy them shots.

“You were amazing, Sansa,” Dany gushed, already a little tipsy off two shots of SoCo lime, the bar special that night, though there was nothing special about the vile, tart drink. But Dany was buying, so Sansa didn’t complain.

“Oh, thank you! That’s so sweet! Can’t wait to see you dance tomorrow.”

“I’m so lucky to have got this job, you all are seriously so nice to me. Last place I was at, the understudy pushed the lead off the stage. Went to jail, they had to shut the whole production down while the lead was recuperating. I want you to know I would never do anything like that,” she told Sansa earnestly, big blue eyes, so blue they were almost violet, looking at Sansa just like a deer in headlights.

Sansa put an arm around Dany’s shoulders, hugged her briefly. “Of course you wouldn’t! Don’t get me wrong, there’s bad people everywhere, but we’re a pretty good bunch. Anyone ever bothers you, just tell me or Olenna, ok?”

Dany looked so relieved and grateful, Sansa thought for a moment she might cry. Her date leaned over then to kiss the top of her head, ruffling her white-blonde locks.

“This looks like a serious conversation,” he remarked in a low rumble.

“Oh, Sansa, this is Drago. We’ve been dating a few months now. Babe, this is Sansa, she danced the lead, and her boyfriend, Sandor.”

Sansa felt a momentary thrill run through her at the casual mention of Sandor as her boyfriend. She shook Drago’s hand, into which Sansa’s hand disappeared, half-waiting for Sandor to demure or reject the title. Afterall, they’d only been dating three or four weeks. But Sandor stuck out his hand and the two men grappled with each other for a few minutes, before releasing hands and giving each other looks of begrudging respect.

Dany and Drago moved on to another group. No one seemed to stay in place for very long, and it wasn’t the sort of place one could have a deep conversation with someone, especially moments later, when a new DJ took over and bumped up the volume level by a good 10%.

Sansa soon got good and sloshed. She danced with Margaery and a small group of the ballet corps, while Sandor stayed at the bar, protesting that she was the dancer in this relationship. He and Drago appeared to be making some kind of small talk that was half grunting, half vague gestures, leaning against the bar. Eventually, Sansa spotted Arya and Shae at a little table in the corner.

Sansa broke off from the group of dancers, making her way across to her sister. Sansa was amused to note that the table was half-covered in empty rocks glasses and shot glasses. “Having a good time?” Sansa shouted over the throbbing bass.

Arya grinned, aiming her fingers like guns towards Sansa. “Eh, not bad. Thanks for telling everyone to buy me drinks. What did you tell them?”

Sansa shrugged with a grin. “Nothing much, just that anyone who was glad Petyr was gone would have you to thank for it.”

“Nice, now I owe you.”

“Nah, consider us even.” At that moment, Sansa spotted Olenna in a quiet corner behind the bar. She said goodbye to Sansa and Shae, and headed over to the older woman.

“Having a good time, Sansa?” Olenna asked, smiling as Sansa dropped heavily into a chair. “You look amazing.”

“Thank you. I’m enjoying myself, especially without having to worry about Petyr the Creep. Is he really gone?”

Olenna raised a glass and toasted Sansa, before taking a sip at what appeared to be straight vodka. “Seems like it. Whatever dirt your sister has on him, it seems to have done the trick. Rumor among the board is that he’s headed for Italy.”

Sansa snorted. “That makes sense. Well, hopefully he’ll be gone for good. Are you excited about the prospect of running the Company?”

Olenna shrugged, arching one slender brow. “I haven’t had a quiet moment to think about it. It’s strange, I’d never even considered running a company, but I must admit, I’ve always had a list of changes I would make, running in the back of my mind. I guess I’ve been preparing for this day for a long time, without ever realizing it.”

Sansa looked up to see Sandor bringing her a drink. He pulled out a chair and sat down, and Sansa took a sip of her favorite: Grey Goose and ice. She made a mental note to thank Sandor later.

“I see you two found the only semi-quiet spot in this whole bar. Cheers.” He held up his glass of amber-colored liquid, and the three clinked glasses.

“Sandor, I’ve been meaning to ask you. I am going to need a music director. What would you say to returning, albeit in a slightly different capacity?”

“I actually just got an offer to play with the New York Symphony in the upcoming season. Rehearsals start next week.” Sansa’s face must have registered surprise, because he added to her, “they called me this afternoon. I auditioned last week, but didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

Olenna nodded. “Well, the music for the Nutcracker is already set. We won’t need you until spring. You can start with the Symphony and decide later, if you want. But this will pay much better than the Symphony.”

Sandor started to reply, but Olenna cut him off. “Think about it and let me know your decision.”

She drained her drink and stood. “This party is for the young. I’m going to head home.” She bent down and kissed the top of Sansa’s head, who shut her eyes for a moment, suddenly transformed into a young girl again.

“You did well, little one. I was so proud of you.”

Sansa looked up at her mentor, slightly abashed at the tears in her eyes, murmuring a thanks so soft it was almost inaudible against the background noise of the bar. Olenna nodded at Sandor, and turned and left.

Sansa wiped at her eyes, sucking in a shaky breath before downing her drink. She smiled across at Sandor.

“Want to get out of here?” she asked with a sly smile.

Sandor’s smile was soft, his grey eyes stormy and smoky. “Thought you’d never ask.”

It took them a few minutes to break away, stopping at a pizza place down the street before heading home. Sansa was feeling bubbly and giggly, not too drunk, but light-hearted and effervescent. By the time they reached the house, Sandor’s hands were all over Sansa’s body, and she was feeling liquid and supple, as pliable in Sandor’s hands as piano keys beneath his fingers.

Sansa unlocked the front door, or tried to, while Sandor stood behind her, hands on her waist, lips on her neck. She giggled, almost dropping the keys.

“Stop, you’re distracting me.”

Sandor took the keys from her, deftly unlocking the door while playing a symphony on her neck and shoulders. Sansa whirled around, leaping deftly into his arms, grinning as he staggered slightly under the new weight. Sansa kicked the door shut as Sandor found his balance, stumbling over to the security keypad to first deactivate, then rearm the alarm.

“You’re making this slightly difficult,” Sandor groaned, hands cupping her ass.

“Gee, sorry about that,” she teased, claiming his mouth as Sandor pushed her up against the wall, pressing his hard form against her soft softs. Sansa closed her eyes, about to moan, when she heard cries coming from somewhere in the house.

Sandor heard them too, so Sansa knew she wasn’t imagining things. “A break in?” she muttered, as Sandor let Sansa slide to her feet.

“The alarm was set,” Sandor replied, looking down at the floor. Sansa followed his gaze. Two pairs of women’s shoes were scattered haphazardly across the floor, along with a canvas bag.

“That’s Arya’s bag,” Sansa noted.

“And Shae’s coat,” Sandor frowned. Another long moan sounded, definitely coming from the back of the house where the smaller bedrooms were located, not the front where Sansa and Sandor slept in the master bedroom. Sansa and Sandor both groaned at the same time.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening,” Sandor rubbed his face.

“She’s lucky I respect Shae, or I would barge in right now and give her a taste of her own medicine.”

“How am I going to stay in the same house with that all night?” Sandor asked.

Sansa thought for a moment, trying to block out the amorous noises from above. Then she grabbed Sandor’s hand and pulled him towards the stairs that led downstairs.

“You know, now’s as good a time as any to give you the tour.”

Sansa flicked on the overhead light, slightly thin and yellowy, then shut the door behind Sandor, relieved to find the noise from above completely deadened. She watched Sandor survey the room, a single studio, with a futon pushed up against the back wall, an old tube TV stood on a rickety-looking table. Beside the futon, a small dorm-room style fridge, topped with a microwave and a toaster oven. In the corner, a small door led to the tiny bathroom, barely the size of Sansa’s tiny dressing room.

“It’s grimy, but clean, I swear. I washed everything after Harry moved out, in case anyone ever needed to crash here.”

Sandor looked around, shrugged. “Other than the lack of windows, it’s not really that different from my old place. Except this shower is a quarter of the size of my old one.”

“Yeah, I’d like to see you in there.”

“I’d break the thing into pieces.” Sandor turned back from the bathroom, watching with interest as Sansa knelt on the futon, rucking up her dress to expose the tops of her thighs.

“Fuck, you look good enough to eat in that dress.”

Sansa writhed under his cool gaze, wishing he would just cross the room and touch her, rather than just watching her, driving her wild.

“You might find that difficult, all the way over there. You going to come over here?”

Sandor crossed his arms, leaning against the door jamb of the bathroom. “Maybe not. I’m kind of enjoying the view.”

Sansa cocked a wicked smile, deciding she might as well give Sandor a good show. She pushed her dress up still farther, exposing the flesh-colored underwear from her performance. She ran her hand over her mound, while her other hand slipped the strap of her dress from off her shoulder, exposing her breast. She cupped her breast for a moment, before letting her fingers close on her nipple, rolling the sensitive area while her other hand pushed aside the gusset of her panties. She pushed herself open with thumb and middle finger, leaning back slightly to make sure Sandor could see everything, before letting her index finger drag over her clit. She let her head fall back, moaning softly.

She was rewarded with a soft, but definite grunting sound from the direction of the bathroom. She smiled to herself as she arched her back, eyes fluttering shut as she circled her clit with her forefinger, teasing herself by never fully stimulating the bundle of nerves. She let her eyes open halfway, gratified by the intense look of longing on Sandor’s hard face. The signs were slight, but they were there. He was getting off on this.

Sansa found, to her surprise, that she was also enjoying this adventure in exhibitionism. She dropped her hand from her breast, pushing the skirt of her dress a little higher, leaning back against the futon and spreading her legs a little wider. She finally rubbed her finger against her clit, letting out a low sigh at the stimulation. With her other hand, she teased two fingers up and down the opening of her cunt, collecting the accumulated fluids on her fingertips before plunging them inside herself. She looked up when she heard a sharp hiss.

She fluttered her lashes, all innocence and guileless naivety. “What’s wrong? I thought you liked the view?”

Sandor crossed the room slowly as Sansa incrementally increased the speed of her finger over her clit. “I was just wondering if I could be of any assistance.” His voice was slightly croaky, another testament to the state he was in. Just thinking of the fact that her actions had got him into this state aroused her still further.

“Well, maybe you could do me a favor.” She drew out the moment, pumping her fingers in and out of her cunt to see the effect it had on his face.

“What favor?” he finally asked.

“My fingers just aren’t big enough. Think you can help?”

Sandor stood above her, silent and still long enough for Sansa to count several of her heartbeats. He finally reached out and touched her, though it was just to softly stroke her cheek. Maybe Sansa was over-sensitive due to the extended foreplay, or it was just the look of intense affection on Sandor’s face drove a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

“You want me to finger you?” he asked, suddenly playing the innocent himself. And fuck, it did things to her. Sansa realized her orgasm was tantalizingly close.

“Yes, please,” she replied, her voice breathy and tremulous to her ear. Her breathing hitched as Sandor leaned forward, his left hand still on her cheek as his right hand reached down to the apex of her thighs. Sansa pulled her fingers from her warm cunt, and Sandor replaced them with his own. Sansa gasped, her finger increasing its pace over her clit as Sandor pumped his fingers inside her, stopping for a moment to crook his fingers, stroking her front wall.

“Fuck, so wet and tight,” he murmured, and Sansa almost whimpered at the fresh wave of arousal that washed over her at the feeling of him inside her, leaning over her, possessing her and caressing her. It was all so dirty and sweet and loving and horny.

“You going to come?” he asked her, gaze steely and knowing. She nodded, all self control flown away, any remaining inhibitions vanishing as she furiously worked her clit, hips bucking up and down to meet Sandor’s fingers as they thrust up. Sandor leaned forward and placed one soft kiss on her upturned lips and Sansa melted, her orgasm melting over her, turning her joints loose and pliable. She could feel herself pulsing around Sandor’s fingers as the aftershocks of her orgasm pulsed out through her.

Sandor waited until the last quaking abated before gently withdrawing his fingers, then crushing Sansa to his chest, covering her lips with kisses. “Fuck, that was hot,” he moaned against her mouth.

Sansa clutched at his shirt, urging him down to her. He knelt above her at first, until Sansa pushed him to the side, then going to straddle him as he sat upright on the futon. His fingers helped push down the top of her dress, freeing her breasts as Sansa fumbled with his belt buckle. Sandor’s lips closed around one of Sansa’s nipples and she chuckled.

“Help me out here, this belt is like a puzzle.”

Without removing his mouth from her breast, Sandor reached down and unbuckled the belt with a flick of his fingers, guiding Sansa’s hips up to hover over him for a moment while he pushed down pants and briefs. Sansa didn’t lose a moment, guiding him to her entrance and letting her hips come down over him, sheathing him fully in one motion.

Sandor groaned against her, releasing her nipple to direct his rapt gaze to the place where they were joined, watching his cock slide out of her as Sansa pushed up from his lap.

“Well that got your attention away from my tits, at least,” Sansa quipped.

“Mmm but they’re such nice tits.” He nipped at her nipple, making Sansa shriek. Then he was nibbling up her neck, as Sansa began pistoning up and down. He laid one hand on the back of her neck, guiding her face to point down to him so he could kiss her. His other hand lay flat on the small of her back, guiding her up and down as she rode him, the springs of the futon protesting dully beneath them.

It was such a power trip, having this man writhing beneath her, looking up at her with lust in his eyes, his huge hands on her body, cupping her ass, her tits, almost spanning both breasts with one hand. She leaned back from him slightly, arching her back, her hands on his knees to support herself. The sharp intake of breath from Sandor told her the view was not going unappreciated.

“Fuck, look at you, so fucking gorgeous taking my cock,” he growled low in his throat, feral and primal. He reached one hand down to her cunt, letting his thumb make lazy circles over and around her clit. Sansa gasped, sounding her own feral cry to the ceiling.

“Need you to come again, Sansa. I’m not going to last much longer. Want you to come on my cock.”

She nodded, unable to form a coherent response. Her breath was ragged, the second orgasm just pulsing below the surface, somewhere deep in her tummy. Sandor changed his rhythm just slightly, and his pattern, his thumb just wiggling on her clit instead of sweeping over it, and suddenly the orgasm crashed over her, sweeping up from her hips, pulsating through her. Sansa fell forward against Sandor, muscles protesting, too warm and sated to hold her up anymore.

Sandor held her for a few moments, pumping slowly until her cunt stopped clenching around his cock. Then he set a new pace, thrusting up into her, hands around her hips, thumbs pushing into the crease of her hips almost hard enough to bruise. For a few moments all thought left Sansa’s mind as he fucked her at a dizzying pace, the snap of his hips against hers filling the room.

Finally, Sandor grunted and his hips stuttered against hers, thrusting erratically a few more times before stopping all together. Sansa moaned softly as his cock slipped from her, then snuggled into Sandor’s chest.

“Fuck me,” Sandor sighed, and Sansa giggled as Sandor bent forward to drop a kiss on her forehead.

“It was certainly…vigorous.”

“Hope you aren’t worn out,” he asked, smoothing her hair back from his face so he could look down at her.

“Nah, just sleepy. Olenna works us harder in rehearsals than we ever work in one day of performing.”

“Makes sense. If your conditioning is good, you’ll never get overworked during showtime.”

She nodded against him, breath slowing, her whole body soft and just a little sore. She would have drifted off to sleep soon, but Sandor jarred her back just in time.

“Come on, let’s get upstairs. Your back’s not gonna thank you tomorrow if you fall asleep like this.”

Sandor helped her pull up the straps of her dress so she was covered again, then helped her to stand. He tucked himself back into his pants, and led the way back upstairs.

The moans had ceased from the back section of the house. As Sansa and Sandor climbed the stairs to the second floor, Sansa said a silent prayer for small mercies. In her bedroom, she peeled off the tank dress, kicked off her shoes, quickly brushing her teeth and emptying her bladder before falling gratefully into bed. She was half-asleep when Sandor slid into bed next to her, tucking her up against his chest, making sure she was covered and warm. She drifted off with a smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've decided there will be just one more chapter, probably pretty short, more like an epilogue. Hopefully I will post that soon.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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